


Roses and Thorns

by ThisIsMyVoice



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clarke is a cuddler, F/F, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Slow Burn Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-18 18:18:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 34,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5938321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisIsMyVoice/pseuds/ThisIsMyVoice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wasn’t there anything Lexa wasn’t good at!? Clark wondered in a huff, her sweaty palms tightening around the pole she was holding, her training weapon of the day.</p><p> </p><p>Basically, Clarke challenges Lexa in a series of contests to find that one thing the seemingly undefeatable Commander absolutely sucks at. Along the way she ends up finding a whole lot more than she bargained for; like Lexa's heart and Lexa's smile and... well, Lexa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Challenge accepted

**Author's Note:**

> So this was just supposed to be a simple fluffly oneshot featuring some Clexa moments but then i actually started writing and that morphed into *this*.  
> Lol, i hope you enjoy it.

Wasn’t there _anything_ Lexa wasn’t good at!? Clark wondered in a huff, her sweaty palms tightening around the pole she was holding, her training weapon of the day.

 

Lexa was standing in front of her, for once not in her commander’s uniform but a simple black netted shirt that looked like a tank top and a pair of trousers,  also black. She was waiting for Clarke to make her move with this small smile on her face like she knew that Clarke was stalling. The commander of the twelve coalitions was calm and steady with her feet shoulder width apart. She looked about as conquerable as the titanic…

 

 _But then again, look at how that story turned out._  Clarke thought, smiling grimly to herself.

 

She, unlike the commander who’d barely broken a sweat was drenched in it. sweat. Not to mention she was nearly trembling from exhaustion, hot, bothered and absolutely filthy from getting knocked to the ground more times than she could count. She knew Lexa was taking it easy on her, mostly side-stepping her swipes and tapping her lightly with the pole instead of actually attacking (god, the thought of Lexa actually _attacking_ made her feel queasy) but still, she’d have all kinds of scrapes and bruises to show for this tomorrow.

 

Considering she’d asked the commander to train her, she guessed she had no one else to blame but herself. Everything that had happened so far had drilled into her head this lesson: there were only two states of being that mattered down on the ground and they were dead and not dead.

 

Learning hand to hand combat would go a long way towards making sure she stayed not dead for as long as possible, no matter how many guns were available. Guns had been next to useless when she was being attacked by Lexa’s angry general. They hadn’t helped her when she was fighting Anya and they wouldn’t help her much against any other seasoned warrior either. She could have asked Indra to train her but then Clarke wasn’t sure she’d even make it out of one of their sessions alive, despite the fact that the general was warming up to her. She could say the same for any one of Lexa's other generals. She could have asked Lincoln but then again he had his hands full with Octavia and she suspected he’d go far too easy on her.

 

Lexa was…perfect actually.

 

Since their moment in the tent, Lexa's mouth moving so achingly gently over hers and Clarke sinking into the kiss only to pull back with a startled shiver and "i'm sorry, i'm not ready to be with anyone. Not yet." she and the Commander had settled into a strange sort of impasse, suspended on the knife's edge of what they were and something _more_ and Lexa was perfect because no matter how fond she was of Clarke (and if that kiss was anything to go by, she was _very_ fond of Clarke) she would hold back only enough to stop her from being seriously injured but that was about it. As much pain as Clarke had to feel to impress upon her the importance of improving her fighting skills to stay alive Lexa would let her feel and so far she was doing one heck of a job because Clarke could feel their training in every muscle she possessed - all the way from the stiffness in her neck to the soreness of her feet. Hell, she could feel pain in muscles she didn’t even know she had. But, if all this rigorous training meant that she’d at least be able to hold off an attacker as skilled as Lexa then it would all be worth it.

 

“Clarke Griffin of the sky people, are you just going to stand there all day or are you actually going to make a move so we can get on with your training.” Lexa called out. The small smile on her face stretched a little wider and Clarke didn't know whether to be glad that she could make Lexa smile, if only a little bit, or irritated that in this particular instance the smile was because she was getting her ass _kicked._ She settled for a state of fond exasperation.  
“Lexa leave me alone okay. It takes as long as it takes to get ready.”

 

And Lexa was all the way on the other side of their training circle but the exaggerated eye roll she gave was impossible to miss.

 

Clarke found herself chuckling.

 

It was sunset, the sun huge and bright on the horizon, bleeding orange and red into the darkening sky. They’d been working since early morning when the world around them was still asleep, the ground still damp with dew and the cold air filled with the promise of a new sunrise. Now, Lexa stood with her back to the sinking sun, bathed in its golden glow so that her hair had fiery highlights. Her skin turned to bronze and her eyes became black diamonds, darker and more intense than Clarke had ever seen them though she didn’t know how that was possible. She looked in short, like some flame-crowned goddess. So basically…Clarke was screwed.

 

_Here goes nothing._

 

Clarke stalked forward as carefully as she could, moving this way and that so that she wasn’t approaching Lexa in a straight line. The Commander kept steady dark eyes on Clarke but apart from that she didn’t move a muscle. When Clarke faked a lunge she didn’t even flinch, though the corner of her mouth twitched upwards.

 

Clarke attempted a feint to the left and then swung as hard as she could to Lexa’s right only to have the commander twist her shoulder away from the blow. Clarke struck again and again and again and again each blow was dodged or parried. In a sudden flash of inspiration, she swung towards Lexa’s feet and had the brief satisfaction of seeing the Commander’s eyes widen slightly in surprise before Lexa nimbly leaped up dodging the swipe. Clarke barely had time to hiss “dammit” before Lexa landed back down and stomped on the pole, jerking the entire thing out of clarke’s hands. It landed on the ground with a loud clatter. Then Lexa kicked it outside the practice circle and far out of Clarke’s reach.

 

Clarke’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. Lexa gave her a wicked little smile, twirling her own pole ominously in her hands. But just before Clarke could break out into a fresh sweat Lexa tossed her pole outside the circle as well and turned back to face Clarke making a ‘come on’ motion with her hand.

 

Oh it was so on.

 

***

 

She wished she could say she had expected a different result but…well…who was she kidding.

 

Clarke blinked dazedly up at the rapidly darkening sky and tried to get back the air that had been knocked clean out of her lungs. She’d kept pace with Lexa’s movements for about five minutes and then she’d tried a punch and Lexa had caught her hand and flipped her right over onto her back. Clarke had actually squeaked, _squeaked_ in surprise. She’d never be able to look the commander in the eye again.

 

As if on que Lexa appeared, upside down in Clarke’s circle of vision. She had on that same slight smile she’d been wearing somewhere around Clarke’s seventh attempt. An eyebrow tilted up as if to ask Clarke, “ready to go again?” Clarke shook her head with a vigour that made Lexa's eyes sparkle.

 

Wordlessly she offered Clarke her hand. Clarke took it and Lexa pulled her smoothly to her feet. Sometimes it amazed Clarke just how strong Lexa really was. Still winded she had to bend over to catch her breath. God everything hurt and the pain plus exhaustion had inspired a dull headache that promised to turn into a painful throbbing in the near future.

 

“That was good.” Lexa commented and when Clarke only gave her a look that said, “be serious” she amended her statement, amused. “better than last time.”

 

Clarke sighed and straightened, feeling all kinds of aches and pains as she stretched her muscles . Sadly, Lexa was right. This dismal performance still somehow managed to be a vast improvement on her attempts thus far.

 

“Yes well, you may be the queen of close combat but there’s no way you’re this good at everything.” Clarke muttered, brushing down her clothes.

 

Lexa raised an eyebrow and stepped slowly closer, into Clarke's personal space.

 

“Is that a challenge Clarke?” Lexa asked, voice lowering in a way that was somehow both playful yet completely serious. Her tongue clicked softly around the 'k' of Clarke's name, and for a second Clarke is distracted by the full pink bow that is Lexa's mouth. It's the smirk tilting up the corner of said mouth that has Clarke snapping out of her daze like she's been scalded. 

 

Lexa's eyes shine but she's kind enough not to say anything. Instead she averts her eyes, looking casually at a point just beyond Clarke's shoulder though the small smile still hovering at the corner of her mouth makes it clear she knows Clarke has seen something she likes.

 

Clarke flushes scarlet and speaks quickly, eager to divert attention away from her now rosy cheeks.

 

“yeah you can bet your sword it is. Winner gets bragging rights… for eternity.”

 

Lexa’s eyes flash with interest as they return to Clarke and as her lips stretch into a smile, a confident provoking smile. Clarke has just a brief second to wonder if she knew what the hell she was getting herself into before she pushed those doubts away. She'd already spoken and though the fading red in her cheeks meant that this quest was no longer strictly necessary, she found that she  _would_ appreciate the opportunity to knock the commander down just a few pegs and be the one wearing that infuriating (and yet undeniably very attractive) little smirk. Besides, she never backed down from a challenge.

 

“There’s something on this green earth you suck at Lexa and believe me, I’m going to find it.”

 

The Commander considered her carefully for a moment with unreadable eyes and then Lexa stepped even closer into her space and Clarke resisted the urge to move back though that meant she was standing toe to toe with the commander, was staring up close into those dark, intense eyes, could feel the warmth of her breath on her face.

 

Suddenly Clarke was fighting very very hard not to let herself get distracted again by those full, soft- looking lips. Her heart began hammering in her chest.

 

It was funny but in moments like this, everything seemed to slow down, each second stretching, each breath flowing heavy through her lungs. She noticed things in moments like this. Like the hairs that had escaped Lexa’s braid to lie against her temple, like the way her lashes were longer than Clarke had ever given her credit for, like the smudge of dirt on one cheek where she’d wiped her hand… like the way Lexa’s gaze had drifted to her lips. The moment stretched for what seemed like eternity and then Lexa seemed to shake herself slightly and did that whole regal thing where she straightened to her full height till she was looking ever so slightly down at Clarke. And the spell broke. And Clarke swallowed past the sudden dryness in her throat.

 

“Game on,” Lexa whispered and stretched out her hand.

 

Clarke only hesitated for a second before she shook it.

 

***

 

As it turned out, Lexa was just as good at riding a horse as she was at fighting.

 

Thankfully, Clarke wasn’t as bad.

 

For someone who’d only dreamed and drawn the large four-legged beasts her whole life, she showed a considerable amount of natural skill in riding one. Lexa had agreed to a race through the forest to a designated stopping point.

 

Somehow after a couple of short-cuts found more through instinct than any real knowledge, Clarke ended up in front. But even as she urged her horse onward she could hear the thunderous sound of Lexa’s mount bearing down on her. A line of sweat made its way down from her forehead and to the side of her face, the air in the forest thick and humid. Clarke didn’t dare take the time to wipe it away. She was almost at her goal, could actually see the purple and white flower that was supposed to mark the end of their race tucked into the bark of a tree up ahead. Apart from the sound of their horses, the forest was almost eerily quiet, as if every animal and every tree had become a spectator in this battle of wills. Clarke leaned forward even further in her saddle, urging her mount faster, grinning in excitement as the finish line neared. Victory was so close she could taste it.

 

Then suddenly a wide chasm yawned before her like a gaping maw. Acting on pure instinct, Clarke pulled back hard on the rains bringing her horse to a skidding halt, terrifyingly close to the edge. She had just a second to stare in disbelief at the gap that had appeared from nowhere before Lexa came racing past.

 

Clarke’s heart caught in her throat.

 

She tried to shout out a warning only to falter as Lexa’s horse gathered itself and leaped clear over the space, zooming to the finish line.

 

Clarke stared in disbelief at the place where the Horse had just been and then at the finish line where Lexa had picked up the flower and brought her horse back to the edge of the gap.

“Do you smell that?” she asked Clarke, a smile, a genuine smile, crossing her face. It’s the first time Clarke has seen her smile, really smile and Clarke is too dazzled to be offended by the fact that it’s because she’s beaten her. Again.

 

“What?” she heard herself ask, still captivated by Lexa’s smile.

 

Lexa takes an exaggeratedly deep sniff of the flower in her hands. “the smell of victory.” She says and Clarke face-palms.

 

***

 

Later, much later when they’ve put the horses away and they’re walking back to the commander’s tent (they still have to plan strategies, review tactics), Lexa suddenly comments, “you did really well today.” And something in Clarke swells with pride but she feigns suspicion as she looks at the commander. It’s there though, that small smile she’s rapidly becoming quite fond of. “if it wasn’t for the drop, you would have won.”

 

And if it’s possible her heart expands even more at the admission but all she allows herself is the tinniest upward quirk of her lip as she glances over at Lexa. “why Commander, is that a compliment?”

 

Lexa doesn’t answer and they walk on in silence but just as Clarke has just about forgotten the question, she speaks.

 

“yes, actually.” And she’s using that voice, that softer voice she used when she said 'not everyone, not you'. And it's, unexpectedly sweet in that way that is uniquely Lexa’s. Lexa steals a glance at her and her eyes are as soft as her voice and its that, right there, moments of such unexpected humanity, unguarded vulnerability that makes Clarke’s heart stutter in her chest. Moments when she can see the girl underneath the war paint, the woman underneath the mask, the heart beating underneath the crushing weight of duty.

 

Moments like this make her want to take Lexa’s hand and run before the world can pull them back to its peculiar darkness, stain them in the way only it can. Before it strips Lexa of the rest of the parts of her that care and leave only the ruthlessness, only the duty, only the commander without the humanity. It’s not her place to, she knows; Lexa has survived at least a decade longer on the ground than she has and if being hard is how she survives it’s not Clarke’s place to question it but still, Still…

 

She thinks for moments like this... the rest of Lexa’s heart is worth fighting for.

 

“Do you like it?” Lexa asks suddenly and Clarke is brought out of her own thoughts.

 

“what?” she asks, a little confused. Then she sees Lexa twirling the victory flower in her hands and Clarke’s mouth twists upwards because of course she still has it. Spoils of war and all. god she's such a freaking Commander, Clarke thinks, her smile stretching wider.

 

It’s beautiful: a rich deep purple with gold edging the petals and the parts containing pollen. It smells like nothing she’s ever smelt before; like fresh dew and wildflowers, smoke on a breeze. Contradicting scents that shouldn’t go together but do; It rather reminds her of Lexa.

 

“yes.” She says truthfully. And there’s silence again but this time she can tell Lexa is thinking.

 

In another few steps she puts a gentle hand on Clarke’s arm bringing her to a stop. Lexa turns to face her fully and there’s something about the way she’s not trying to hide how much she does care about Clark, how its written in the soft dark of her eyes that has butterflies suddenly exploding in Clarke's stomach. It’s another moment that stretches too long and Clarke’s breathing has gone uneven and maybe it’s insane, doing this with the commander of the twelve coalitions because Lexa’s not just lovely, she’s deadly. A rose with poisoned thorns; There’s a fierceness in her that no amount of care or tenderness can take away but somehow... Clarke can’t quite bring herself to care. There’s something about the Ground that brings it out in people. Fierceness. And considering she’s killed three hundred soldiers and counting, maybe it’s safe to say that there’s a fierceness in her too.

 

But there’s nothing fierce now about the way Lexa’s hand lifts to tuck the flower into her hair, brushing past the skin of her ear. Clarke’s eyes widen; she wasn’t expecting that. And it’s nothing, just a gesture, just a touch but Clarke’s skin tingles anyway,

 

she’s moved anyway. And Lexa gives her one of those rare half- smiles.

 

“it suits you” she says.

 

And as they begin walking again Clarke doesn’t need a mirror to know that yes, yes it does.

 

***

 

The boats were her idea.

 

After all, she figured if she couldn’t beat Lexa on Land, she’d nab her in the water.

 

In hindsight, she should probably have taken the commander’s much fitter physical condition into consideration. Honestly, Lexa had actual _abs_  for crying out loud.  
Still, Clarke wasn’t that far behind her. Indra had picked a fairly rough stretch of river to race on claiming that the test was about skill and not just strength. The current was fast and powerful, surging around the canoe like an angry thing. Sprays of water drenched her clothing as the river crashed vengefully into the rocks and Clarke kept having to wipe her face to clear her vision. She was just behind Lexa on a particularly rough stretch of rapids when it happened.

 

She had no idea how.

 

One moment, she was furiously trying to propel her boat forward and steer it past the rock at the same time and the next she was glancing up and Lexa was standing in her boat and she froze. For multiple reasons.  
The first, was because of the sharp stab of anxiety that she could fall. The next was curiosity because it looked like somehow Lexa had lost an oar.

 

And Clarke really doesn’t know how it happened except she’s staring at Lexa and the sun suddenly comes out from behind the cliffs that had kept it hidden, and a sudden spray of water leaves Lexa drenched and Clarke’s not paddling so much as noting that a) Lexa’s shirt gets clingy when wet, b) that she can count one, two, three, four, five, six, well defined muscle ridges on the plane of Lexa’s stomach, c) that her wet skin and hair are glistening in the sudden light. She has just enough time to wonder about her lips when with a jarring crunch, the front of her boat slams into a jutting rock and with a violent twist, the boat turns and sends Clarke tumbling into the water.

 

It’s like crashing face first into a wall and Clarke is stunned.

 

Also, she can’t swim.

 

Almost immediately she begins to sink down, down and the water is still surging around her, still pulling and tugging her this way and that and when it registers, that she’s drowning, Clark begins to fight, struggling. And for a second it works and she breaks the surface with a loud gasp, only to have another wall of water crash over her and now its in her lungs, in her eyes, dragging her down and now there’s no air left to fight with. But she tries, anyway, thrashing weakly in the water.

 

She doesn’t feel the disturbance cutting through the water, barely feels the arms around her dragging her up until she breaks the surface once more and her screaming lungs can finally take in air again. She resumes thrashing on impulse.

 

“Clarke, Clarke! Relax, I’ve got you. you're safe.” And it’s Lexa’s voice, right behind her, in her ear and Clarke realizes that she really does have an arm around her, over her left shoulder and under her right arm. And for some reason, the fact that Lexa is here, that Lexa has her is enough to ease most of the stark terror she's feeling; enough for her to stop thrashing and actually try and breathe. Its a struggle to get any oxygen past her waterlogged lungs and when all she manages are a few feeble, gasping breaths, she feels Lexa's arm tighten around her. She's tempted to point out that there’s no way Lexa can carry the both of them across to the other side of the bank with this kind of current but... there’s something about the commander that makes her think that maybe she can. That makes her want to trust her. So when Lexa tells her again to relax, despite the fact that everything in her is screaming that she kick and struggle till she gets something to hold onto, she lets her body go limp and just like that they’re moving. It feels like an eternity but Lexa’s strokes are strong and sure and in reality it is probably only a few minutes till they reach the other side.

 

Lexa rolls her onto the bank first and instantly she’s on her knees, coughing and gagging, struggling to breathe past the water in her lungs. Then Lexa’s hand is against her back, thumping until she starts coughing the water she swallowed out. “Dammit Clarke,” she hears Lexa mutter and she’d be inclined to agree if she wasn’t the one who'd almost drowned. When she’s done coughing out what feels like half the river her throat feels raw. It takes her a second to note that Lexa has moved from thumping her back to rubbing it and the motion is soothing. Clarke let’s herself enjoy it for a while before she flips over onto her back in exhaustion.

 

“Are you alright?” is the first question Lexa asks her. Clarke can only nod. It seems to be enough of an answer for now because Lexa rolls over beside her with a tired, relieved sigh. They stay like that for a while until Clarke is ready to sit up. Lexa helps her and then the commander crosses her arms in front of her chest and Clarke knows she’s in trouble.

 

But When she finally does speak, Lexa sounds more bemused than anything else. But also like she's carefully keeping all her other emotions in check so that she can decide whether to be upset, exasperated etc. later. "Alright. What happened?”

 

Now, how could Clarke explain without dying of embarrassment?

 

“uh, well, I – ” she croaked and then swallowed, past her sore throat and tried again. “I may have gotten a little distracted?” she offered, a little sheepishly.

 

“distracted?” and suddenly the aura around Lexa is less bemused and more dangerous as she slightly arches an eyebrow. “by what?”

 

“well, I, um – “ Clarke flushes, briefly looks to the sky and asks why her, and then casts a pointed gaze at Lexa, eyes running from the soaked tank- top still clinging to her form, to the flat plane of her stomach - the tiniest sliver of bronze skin showing down to her soaked shorts which are clinging to toned thighs. Clarke yanks her eyes back to Lexa’s her face burning. Lexa follows her gaze trying to understand. When she does, Clarke sees the figurative light bulb go off above her head

 

“what? by me?” she asks carefully. And Clarke bites her bottom lip and looks away but nods. And there’s a pause then while Lexa processes the information.

 

Out of all the reactions she was expecting the quiet chuckle that starts from somewhere deep down in Lexa’s throat is not part of them. Clarke’s head whips round so fast, she almost gives herself whiplash. She’s never heard Lexa laugh. Never even seen her give a full smile until that day in the forest after their horse race and yet here she was chuckling softly. When Lexa catches sight of Clarke’s wide open eyes and pure surprise she starts laughing outright.  
And it’s like snow fall during summer, like a rainbow in the middle of the night, startling, unexpected, unusual but no less welcome, no less beautiful. Clarke considers what she must look like, drenched and blushing and exhibiting slack- jawed surprise; she almost died and all because she got distracted by the color of Lexa’s skin when it was covered in water and glistening in the sun. It’s not long before Clarke starts laughing at herself as well. And once she starts it’s like they can’t stop. They laugh until they collapse into a heap side by side. Clarke actually has to wipe tears from her eyes. They need a minute to breathe.

 

“I do not remember the last time I laughed like that.” Lexa says wistfully after a moment and Clarke knows what she means. Neither does she.

 

They’re comfortable then, just lying down on the rock, together, close, arms almost touching but not quite. Clarke closes her eyes. She can hear the sound of rushing water. Thinks how strange it is that she’s not more afraid and realizes in large part it’s because Lexa is here that she can afford not to be and that, _(that_ instead of almost drowning is terrifying. She trusts her, she realizes, whether she wants to or not, whether it’s wise to or not. She trusts her and that’s well…that’s another problem for another day.)

 

Clarke feels watery sunlight on her face, slivers of warmth just beginning to seep through her skin. And they should probably get out of their wet clothes because while nothing might happen to Lexa, she’s almost completely sure that she’ll catch a cold and with her luck it’ll probably try and kill her. For now, though, she thinks she might risk it for this kind of peace. What she’s feeling right now is strange. She hasn’t felt this since the first days on the arc when she and her father and wells and her mum and the chancellor were all friends, all together. Peace. Contentment. It’s…nice. She’d forgotten what that felt like.

 

Clarke is actually half asleep when Lexa finally speaks. “Clarke.” She murmurs, and waits until Clarke drags open heavy eyes. When she does she’s stunned by Lexa’s proximity. She’s so close, Clarke can see the darker black of her pupil inside her iris, can see little flecks of gold she’d never noticed before right where green meets black. As her gaze drifts down to Lexa’s lips she realizes that she was right, that the water makes them glimmer too. It’s the second time she’s had to remind herself to keep breathing around Lexa.

 

“I’m flattered.” The commander whispers and then she leans over and places her most tender kiss yet right on the tip of Clarke’s nose.

 

And Clarke is nothing less than utterly shocked. Lexa lingers and surprise gives way to giggles because the Commander's mouth is still perched right at the end of her nose. When she does pull back Lexa gives her one of those rare soft smiles in response.

 

“Come on, we should be on our way.” And Lexa’s gets to her feet and turns to help Clarke up. She checks her over to make sure she’s not hurt once she’s standing and when she’s satisfied that she’s not, they turn to go.  
And Clarke, Clarke has wanted to do this for a while now but couldn’t quite bring herself to when Lexa was clothed in the full regalia of her commander’s uniform, or when she was wearing her warpaint, death smeared across the windows of her soul or when she was poised on the balls of her feet, ready to send Clarke sprawling to the ground or when they were surrounded by all of Lexa’s grim faced, hot- tempered, mistrustful commanders but somehow, out here, both of them soggy and tired and rumpled and Lexa just being Lexa, Clarke found it easier to slip her hand into hers.

 

Her heart is hammering when Lexa glances down at their hands together, surprised.

 

Then she lifts her gaze and stares at Clarke for an immeasurable period of time.

 

Clarke is careful not to meet her eyes as they walk but she can't do anything about the light flush that spreads over her skin, touching the tips of her ears. For a few horrible seconds, she fears rejection. And then Lexa’s fingers are intertwining with hers, holding on tightly and Clarke actually breaths a sigh of relief. Maybe it was louder than she’d thought because Lexa’s eyes are sparkling in amusement. She gives Clarke’s hand a little squeeze and all Clarke can think of as they make their way back is that for the life of her, she had never thought she would ever feel this happy again.  
Like the warmth of the sun has finally managed to pierce through her clothes, through her skin, straight to her heart.

 

Like she’s swallowed a ball of liquid light.

 

***

 

Clarke was limping.

 

It was subtle, just the slightest shifting of her weight from her left leg to her right but it was enough to worry Lexa. And it was stupid because she knew the Sky princess had taken worse than tumble in the river during their last contest. She couldn’t have faced down three hundred warriors, escaped from mouth weather and held her own against Anya without taking worse but still it pained Lexa to think of Clarke in pain, especially because of something as silly as proving she was unbeatable. ( which...she was, but that wasn't the point.)

 

But it wasn’t just the limp. Occasionally she’d catch a wince, or grimace on Clarke’s face as she reached to pick something up or point at something. It was clear to Lexa that she was in pain even if no one else had noticed and when after two days, she was still observing the same symptoms, Lexa made up her mind to confront Clarke about it.

 

When she finds Clarke she’s surrounded by a group of young children, not more than four or five years old, following mothers who were helping to bring provisions for the situated army. They’re clamoring for something with outstretched hands and Lexa speeds up, alarmed. Its only when she gets closer that she realizes that the thing that that they’re clamoring for…is Clarke.

 

And Lexa watches astounded as Clarke crouches down in their midst- (she doesn’t dismiss the wince that crosses her face) – and the children, having finally gotten their hearts desire, quieten down, suddenly shy. But their shyness doesn't prevent them from running cautious hands through Clarke’s golden hair or touching her jacket. And Clarke was smiling as she chatted with them. Lexa couldn’t hear what she was saying, but whatever it was made the children around her smile too.

 

Lexa walked towards the group feeling a little dazed. It had never crossed her mind, the possibility that Clarke would not only capture her heart but given enough time might just capture the hearts of her people as well.  
_'Our people'_  Lexa thought, trying the idea out. It had a nice ring to it.

 

When Clarke saw her approaching, she straightened and Lexa faltered because she remembered another time and another girl with blonde hair and sky blue eyes, surrounded by a bunch of children with a toddler on her hip.

 

(* _You have to know your people Lexa. That’s how you love them.* Costia had said. When Lexa had gotten close enough, she’d transferred the toddler on her hip into Lexa's arms and laughed when Lexa stiffened, holding the chubby baby at arms length, terrified of dropping her._

 

_*Here, like this*. And Costia gently pushed the child closer to Lexa’s body, where she let out a happy gurgle and immediately latched on - her tiny legs around the Commander's waist and her face buried in Lexa’s neck._

 

_When a minute passes, and then two and Lexa doesn't drop her, she grins at Costia._

 

_Costia’s smile is dazzling in response.)_

 

“Lexa, are you okay?” Clarke asks breaking her out of her reverie. Lexa blinks and it is Clarke not Costia in front of her, Clarke peering with concern at her face.

 

Lexa shakes it off, trying to reassure Clarke with a small smile. “yes, I’m fine. Just remembering something.”

 

_You’re still haunted by Costia._

 

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Lexa asks, purposefully ignoring the voice in her head.

 

“uh, yeah sure.” Clarke replies still looking a little worried about her. When the grounder children realized that their Heda was taking the sky princess away they pouted until Clarke gave them a few trinkets from the ark that she’d found, asking them to keep them for her. They dashed away whooping excitedly and the corner of Lexa’s mouth turned upwards despite herself.

 

“What’s up?” Clarke asked when they were alone but Lexa only shook her head to indicate this was not the place to discuss the matter and taking Clarke’s hand, turned to lead her back to the tent.

 

It was only when they were halfway there that she realized that she still hadn’t let go. Rather, Clarke had intertwined her fingers with hers. She marveled at how normal this had become. Holding hands with Clarke. Like they had been doing this forever.

 

Like they could do this forever.

 

***

 

“Take off your clothes” Lexa tells her almost as soon as they are inside her tent.

 

Clarke freezes almost comically where she is a few paces behind Lexa, one foot still in the air, eyes widening and jaw dropping.

 

After a few seconds of stunned silence Clarke manages to splutter out an, “I'm sorry, what?”

 

Any other time and Lexa would have smiled. Now the only thing on her face is a slight frown as she takes in the blue- black discoloration just showing at Clarke’s neck that could only be a new bruise.

 

“Forgive me, that was a bit abrupt. please at least take off your jacket Clarke, I want to see your back.”

 

Clarke unfroze moving closer with a puzzled smile. “okay, Commander I know I have the sexiest back in this camp – ”

 

She doesn’t get anywhere with her joke before Lexa interrupts her softly. “Clarke –”

 

And maybe she can see it now, the worry written in the dark depths of Lexa’s eyes because the grin on her face fades away. She hesitates for just a second but when the Commander looks her right in the eyes and whispers “Please” everything inside Clarke melts. Her hands move of their own accord to the zipper of her jacket.

 

It is suddenly very tense in the tent, as if the space has contracted around them, shrunken down to just the area around Lexa and Clarke with her hand on the zip of her jacket. A hush descends as if suddenly the whole world is watching – the tent and the throne and the bed are watching – or maybe it’s just Lexa watching and the hush comes from the fact that all her attention is fixed so unwaveringly on Clarke.

 

When Clarke drags the zip down, her mouth is dry. she can’t help but note the way Lexa’s breath catches slightly. Or the way Lexa can’t seem to help following the movement with her eyes.

  
Her gaze burns as her eyes drift back up to meet Clarke’s. And suddenly it feels like all the air in the room has left as well. Clarke makes herself take a deep if somewhat shaky breath. She’s blushing she knows, all the way from the tip of her ears to her toes and it’s ridiculous because she hasn’t actually removed anything yet.

 

Lexa takes note of the blush rising up her neck and staining her cheeks and ears and no matter how worried she is, the corner of her mouth still tilts upwards at Clarke’s reaction to her reaction.

 

“turn around.” Lexa tells her gently and Clarke complies, using the opportunity to breathe as normally as she can. She feels Lexa step in close behind her and take hold of the collar of her jacket, her fingers lightly brushing Clarke’s neck as she does. (and a slight shiver runs through Clarke, she can’t quite help it.). Lexa slowly pulls of her jacket. And the air grows heavy with all kinds of possibilities but she knows better than to exploit any of them. If being the commander of the twelve clans has taught her anything it’s how to be patient and If she and Clarke are ever going to be anything, she doesn’t want just parts of her, doesn’t want just brief moments of mutual attraction. She wants all of her, no ghosts in sight.

 

So instead of pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck or under her collarbone or letting her fingers skim down Clarke’s now exposed arms she lets them slide just under the edge of Clarke’s tank top. She hears Clarke’s soft inhale of breath, decides she wants to hear the sound again another time, under different circumstances and draws the tank smoothly over Clarke’s head.

 

And its Lexa's turn to inhale, though this time in shock.

 

Clarke’s back is an abstract painting of multi-coloured bruises extending all the way down to her hips and disappearing past the waist of her trousers.  
Lexa’s hands barely touch Clarke’s skin as they skim her back but Clarke still winces, tensing at the slightest touch. Her muscles are knotted and tight, some areas even slightly swollen and it must have been hell walking around like this and trying to pretend everything was fine.

 

Lexa observes about as much as she can take before her hand curls into a fist against Clarke’s skin and she turns away putting some distance between them and keeping her back to Clarke. Anger simmers in her blood, bubbles up and over filling her eyes. Her voice is as level as ever though when she asks, “why did you not inform me that we…that _I_ was being too tough on you.”

 

Clarke shrugs back into her tank top and pulls on her jacket, before turning to stare at the commander’s back, trying to ascertain Lexa’s mood without relying on her tone: the casually disaffected one designed to let friend and foe alike know that she is strong. That she doesn’t care…

 

Except Clarke can see right through Lexa, even when her back is turned towards her.

 

She sees the tension in her shoulders, senses something like anger in the straightness of the steel rod that was once her spine, in Lexa’s white knuckled grip on the hilt of her sword and suddenly it’s Clark’s turn to be worried.

 

“Hey,” she says softly, moving towards Lexa. “it’s okay, just a few bruises and a twisted ankle, no problem.” And she knows even before Lexa turns, eyes flashing that it’s the wrong thing to say.

 

Clarke once again comes to a halt, surprised this time. She’s never had Lexa look at her that way before, never seen fury burning so clearly in the emerald green eyes and yet, when Lexa speaks, her voice is still measured, still controlled and somehow, that’s even more terrifying than if she had yelled or shouted or screamed. The calm itself is deadly.

 

“you should have told me if I was hurting you Clarke.” Lexa says quietly and it’s then that the pieces click into place for Clarke. Lexa’s not angry, not at her. She’s angry about her. Upset.

 

Clarke takes that in, surprised for a second, at the emotions playing out in Lexa’s eyes. she’s never bought into the myth about Lexa not feeling anything but, she realized, she also had no idea just how much the commander did feel, how much she hid away on an everyday basis. Clarke considers Lexa for a moment, considers the angry dark of her eyes and feels something warm and soft welling up inside her. She makes up her mind, moving closer to Lexa with measured steps, the way one might approach a deer she doesn’t want to spook.

 

And sure enough Lexa’s head tilts upwards, her back straightening. The emotion is gone from her eyes in the time it takes to blink. But Clarke is still not fooled.

 

She steps closer and closer. And unlike that day in the tent, though Lexa seems to wind tighter and tighter she doesn’t step back.

 

Clarke moves until she’s standing toe to toe with Lexa, and then somehow manages to move even closer than that and despite herself, the anger in Lexa’s eyes is bleeding away to be replaced by a cautious wariness and it amuses her that of the two of them, the one whose wary is Lexa, the commander of the twelve coalitions, reincarnated leader of her people.

 

It _should_ be Clarke.

 

She’s not as she wraps her arms gently around Lexa’s waist, pulling her closer. And Lexa let’s her, takes the two steps required to bring her flush against Clarke.  
And Clarke rests her forehead gently against the commander’s and just holds her there. And it takes a minute, two, before Lexa is sighing, the tension bleeding out of her body as she relaxes into Clarke, nose nuzzling against hers and Clarke can’t help the smile that lights up her face because Lexa-

 

Lexa is an enigma that Clarke is starting to understand. Lovely and deadly. A rose with poisoned thorns; A whole lot of heart beating underneath the weight of duty.

 

“you should have told me.” Lexa murmurs. and then quieter. "i do not like hurting you Clarke. i do not like it at all."

 

And Clarke says nothing for a moment, just closes her eyes and let the truth sink in, deep and pure and true.

 

Lexa cares. Lexa cares. Lexa _cares_ about Clarke.

 

Clarke tips her head up and to the side so that her lips brush across Lexa’s cheek. An apology.

 

“I didn’t know how.” She admitted, “not without looking weak or getting you to take it easy on me, or having you stop training me altogether, or a thousand other things that I didn’t want.”

 

“Clarke – ” Lexa pulls away, but cups her face so that Clarke has to look at her. “you will never be weak to me.” And the solemn sincerity in her voice together with the respect in her eyes has Clarke’s heart soaring – with pride, with affection, with gratitude.

 

“Thank you,” she whispers and Lexa’s eyes soften. She knows how much it means to her to hear those words in this time of uncertainty, with all their hopes riding on Bellamy’s shoulders, sitting here helplessly waiting for some news, any news. When Lexa calls her strong, she can almost believe it, even if she doesn’t exactly feel it right now. Lexa leans in and places a lingering kiss on Clarke’s forehead and Clarke leans into the touch, into the tenderness in the gesture her eyes closing.

 

Lexa lets Clarke rest against her, her head on her shoulder, right against her heart and it’s not quite a hug, because Clarke’s hands have slipped back to her sides but it’s not quite not either, with one of Lexa’s hands around Clarke’s waist. They stay like that for a long while, Clarke drawing from Lexa’s strength and Lexa willingly supplying it until Lexa breaks the silence.

 

“and I wouldn’t have taken it easy on you.” She murmurs. Clarke let’s out a small smile, against Lexa’s shoulder, not moving an inch or opening her eyes. “no?”

 

“No.  That would not have been the best way to ensure you survive the coming war, no matter how closely I intend to stick beside you. and i do intend to ensure you survive.”

 

Clarke’s heart does a funny little stutter at the admission that Lexa intended to protect her and now she does lift her head up, meeting Lexa’s gaze. And it’s those eyes again, the soft ones, the true ones she saves only for Clarke.

 

“I’ve just found you Clarke.” she murmurs, lifting her hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Clarke’s ear, fingers leaving a trail of heat. “I don’t intend on losing you just yet.”

 

Lexa’s lips tilt up in that small half-smile and Clarke has to blink past the sudden rush of tears to her eyes. They hadn’t talked about the kiss in the tent. Not really, not past the fact that she wasn’t ready to be with anyone else. But for all that it seemed like the Commander had already gone quite a long way towards capturing her heart and that _terrified_ Clarke. she couldn’t do this now, not in war time, when the threat of losing even more of the people she loves hangs all around her. She won’t let herself love Lexa only to lose her too. She can’t. She swallows past the lump in her throat and struggles to say how she feels but apparently Lexa’s sentiment wasn't meant to be returned; didn't require any words. She presses a kiss to Clarke’s cheek and gives her waist a small squeeze before she moves past her to the table allowing Clarke to discreetly swipe at her eyes.

 

When she’s back in control she turns. Lexa’s watching her from beside the table on the other side of the room and when she meets her eyes the knowledge slices into her cleanly, like a knife: that despite her intentions, things _have_ changed yet again between them and there might be no way to change them back. Clarke sucks in a soft breath, heart thudding at the realization.

 

Then Lexa looks away, towards the table and the moment is broken. And Clarke reminds herself to breathe. In and out. In and out…

 

“What I would have done was tell you that there are herbs and ointments that help prevent the bruising or take it away entirely and others that dull the pain after a fight or help remove it completely. I would have asked you to let me help you.” She pauses for a second and Clarke senses more than sees the flicker of hesitation before Lexa straightens to look her in the eye. “do you trust me?” She asks.

 

And it’s a question that makes Clarke’s heart skip a beat as she gazes across the room into Lexa’s searching eyes. Does she trust her? Doesn’t she trust her? More than she thought she would. More than she wanted too. But should she really admit it? Hadn’t Lexa admitted it to her? Didn’t the same rules apply?

 

_*Well if you care about me then, trust me when I say Octavia is not a problem.*_

 

_*I do trust you Clarke.*_

 

Didn’t she care? whether she'd wanted to or not? whether she'd decided to or not?

 

“Yes,” Clarke whispered. Her throat suddenly dry, heart hammering in her chest. “I do trust you.”

 

And she’s not expecting the smile that stretches, slow and devastatingly beautiful across the Commander’s face. Like the unfurling of petals, like flowers stretching towards the sun, like the first hints of dawn, sunlight after a storm. It's the second time Clarke has seen the Commander, really and truly smile and it's even more dazzling than the first.

 

“Good,” Lexa says.

 

***

 

That’s how Clark ends up here, in the commander’s tent with an assortment of jars with various colored liquids on Lexa’s bedside table, two burning candles and the smell of vanilla wafting on the breeze. Lexa herself is standing just beside the curtain that separates her sleeping quarters from the rest of the tent.

 

To say that she is nervous would be an understatement.

 

Lexa tilts her head, giving her a small smile, as if to ask, “are you ready?”

 

And Clarke takes a deep breath and nods, forcing herself to ignore the frantic thudding of her heart. It was ridiculous because she’d agreed to this but she suddenly didn’t feel ready at all. Everything about this seemed very…intimate in a way that had her flushing lightly as she neared Lexa.

 

At Lexa’s knowing smile she exhales and gives herself a little shake. She was being ridiculous. She had survived a grounder invasion, being abducted by Mount Weather, faced off Anya, escaped reapers and survived the bombing of TonDC so she could definitely survive a little massage. The fact that she was currently wiping sweaty palms across the front of her jeans proved nothing.

 

She stopped right in front of the Commander and she wished she could slow it, the rapid thudding of her heart, but when she met Lexa’s eyes it rebelled and merely kicked up to a higher rhythm.

 

Lexa’s gaze is steady on hers and Clarke has the uncomfortable feeling that she can see right through her as well. Lexa closes the distance between them and takes the zip of Clarke’s jacket. And Clarke wonder’s if she can feel it too as she pauses – the racing of Clarke’s heart. Lexa’s eyes ask for permission and Clarke gives it to her with a slight nod. The zip slides down as smoothly as a knife through butter.

 

“Nervous?” Lexa asks and her voice is casual, the disinterested tone she adopted when she was keeping her feelings in check.

 

“a little.” Clarke admitted after a short pause. “aren’t you?”

 

Lexa doesn't answer immediately. Instead she places Clarke’s jacket on a nearby table. When she turns to help Clarke with her tank top, fingers just underneath the edge of the material, just brushing the skin of Clarke’s stomach she meets Clarke’s eyes again, and there is that slight smile Clarke is rapidly getting rather fond of.

 

“only a little.” She says and a slow grin spreads across Clarke’s face. She exhales and suddenly she isn't nearly as nervous anymore. As if Lexa can sense this too, her smile widens ever so slightly before she becomes serious.

 

“You made it clear that you were not ready Clarke, and I am not trying to get you to do anything you don’t want to do. I assure you.“ it was impossible to doubt the sincerity shining from her eyes and in her voice.

 

And Clarke relaxed even further as she nodded, because she knew that Lexa wasn’t going to suddenly take advantage of her. The problem was her, and her own unruly heart that wasn’t listening when she tried to tell it that falling for Lexa was a bad idea. It wasn’t because of anything Lexa had said or done; it was because of everything she _was._

 

Lovely and deadly, a rose with maybe not so poisoned thorns. It was Clarke that was desperately trying to make sure she didn’t get pricked by getting too close. 

 

Again, she was failing miserably.

 

They took off her tank top together.

 

And then Clark turned so that Lexa could undo the clasp of her bra. and for a second she wondered if she should take the entire thing off but blushed scarlet at the thought and decided against it.

“This is okay right?” she asked, her tone cautious. A wave of relief flowed through her when Lexa affirmed.

 

“Just finish taking of your jeans as well and I’ll be in the room when you’re ready.” Lexa said. She moved into her room and Clarke took another deep, steadying breath. At least one thing she could be thankful for was that she had a decent pair of underwear on. a black cotton pair she’d gotten what seemed like a lifetime ago. Luckily it had survived all the activity on the ground and was still in pretty good shape.

 

Clarke took her time stepping out of her jeans. She folded them. Then folded her tank top and her jacket too and when she had run out of things to stall with then and only then did she take a deep breath and step into Lexa’s room.

 

***

 

She tried not to be too conscious of Lexa’s reaction.

 

Again, she failed miserably.

 

She noted everything: the way Lexa stopped breathing at her entrance, the way her eyes widened slightly as Clarke stepped further into the circle of golden light provided by the candle, the way they dropped to trace Clarke’s figure.

 

Clarke felt Lexa’s gaze like a caress, a slow burn that rolled all the way through her. Her pulse was unsteady as Lexa's eyes locked on hers. There was something a lot like awe in the now dark green eyes.

 

“Clarke, you’re beautiful.” Lexa murmured, like she couldn’t help it and Clarke's cheeks warm further at the compliment. She can’t help the hint of smug pleasure she feels though. Lexa has dazzled her many times and once she tumbled out of a boat, almost to her death. She figures that with this they’re even.

 

“So,” she said, clapping her hands together and trying to ignore the fact that for the first time since she’d known her, Lexa actually seemed stunned. By her. Clarke felt _so_   _smug._

 

“how exactly does this work?”

 

And the question was enough to bring Lexa’s attention back to the reason why they were there in the first place.

 

She cleared her throat discreetly, something suspiciously like a blush tinting her cheeks as she moved to busy herself with the ointments beside her bed.

 

Clarke is so busy staring at the colour staining Lexa’s cheeks that she misses that Lexa’s waiting for her to take a seat until the commander raises a questioning brow.

 

“Right, sorry, sorry.” Clark murmured and it’s her turn to snap out of it. She gives herself a little shake doing exactly that.

 

She can swear there’s a twinkle in Lexa’s eyes.

 

Clarke sinks carefully down to the bed and is struck immediately by how comfortable it is. She can't resist running her hands through the fur. it's soft and silky against her palm. ticklish. pleasant. she doesn't even realize she's smiling until Lexa comes to kneel before her, amusement written on her face. Her hands are cool as they pick up Clarke's ankle to inspect it.

 

"You like the bed Clarke?" she asks and Clarke nods without really thinking about it, her smile stretching into a grin. She actually really, really does.

 

“good.” Lexa says, pleased. “you are welcome on it anytime.”

 

Clarke's head turns toward Lexa so fast she thinks she may have given herself whiplash but the Commander has already moved to the assortment of jars on the bedside table before Clarke can question what she means exactly and in the end, she decides it's better not to. The Commander probably meant that far more innocently than it sounded.

 

“I might just take you up on that.” She says instead with a small sigh and is rewarded with one of Lexa's genuine smiles. Clarke grins, pleased she could bring it out. Things didn’t always have to be so complicated after all. Sometimes it was okay to let them just…be.

 

Lexa returns holding a thick, greenish paste. Clarke eyes it with caution on principle and Lexa smiles at the suspicion on her face.

 

"It's just for the swelling Clarke. It doesn't feel or smell as bad as it looks." she assures and Clarke takes her word for it.

 

One more time Lexa kneels down, gently taking Clarke's ankle into her lap. And Clarke is suddenly aware of the fact that she's half naked in Lexa's room, her foot resting on Lexa's thighs. That all the commander has to do is look up and she'll be eye-level with Clarke's chest. Heat creeps over Clarke's skin and she immediately banishes the thoughts trying to find a sense of calm.

 

Lexa doesn't look up though. Her attention is completely on Clarke's injured leg as she turns it experimentally, first this way and then that. when Clarke winces, her foot jerking involuntarily, Lexa does look up then, but straight into Clarke's eyes and not for a moment at her chest, or her underwear, or the exposed plane of her stomach.

 

And Clarke could just fling her arms around Lexa and hug her for it.

 

she won't, for obvious reasons...but she could.

 

"It looks like its a little sprain so i'll just apply the cream and wrap it up for you. is that okay Clarke?" Clarke nods.

 

Lexa takes some of the dangerous looking ointment onto her finger and smears it on Clarke's ankle. Gently, she begins to rub it in. Almost immediately, Clarke feels a pleasant heat and numbness spreading through her foot. She sighs at the feeling, letting some of her earlier tension go and Lexa's mouth quirks up at her reaction.

 

The commander works quickly, and in no time at all, the cream has been completely worked into Clarke's ankle and it's been bandaged nice and tight with a few strips of a clean looking cloth.

 

Clarke tried moving her ankle and grinned when there wasn't a single hint of pain that accompanied the movement. Lexa smiled at the pain-free ankle wriggling and Clarke felt a powerful pang of gratitude towards Lexa.

 

"Thank you" she murmured, putting every ounce of sincerity she could into her words. The corner's of Lexa's mouth tilted in response but her only response was a single nod, a regal acceptance of Clarke's thanks before she stood.

 

"I'm not done yet Clarke."

 

With a tilt of her chin, Lexa indicated the bed. Clarke only hesitated for a second before moving to lie down on her stomach, a small blush covering her skin. The fur on Lexa's bed is even softer against her body than it is against her hands.

 

She doesn’t know why she’s surprised. How many times has the commander been lounging back here while Clarke wore away the lining of her shoes with all of her anxious pacing? She’d known it was made out of fur but she’d had no idea it would feel like this, especially against her bare skin.

 

Clarke folds her hands underneath her head and sighs, relaxing completely for the first time in months.

 

It’s more than just the bed the bed that’s making her feel so comfortable though, she realizes soon enough. It’s the room itself, the entire space. It’s warm for one, an improvement on the chilly night air outside and the smell of Vanilla is pleasant. The candles were a great idea, not just because of their fragrance but because of the ambiance they created, leaving the room dark enough to be relaxing but not so dark that they couldn’t see.

 

When she tilts her head into the fur she realizes that she can smell Lexa as well. The scent of the forest and flowers in bloom, of campfires and steel; she smells something dark, rich and sweet she doesn’t know the name of and there’s another scent, like foreign spices and wild honey woven through and it suits Lexa perfectly, this blend. Of smoke and flowers and life and death and she doesn’t realize she’s rubbing her nose against the furs until Lexa calls out her name, her voice faintly surprised. “Clarke?” she asks.

 

And Clarke freezes, caught in the act. She flushes red (and it feels like all she’s done since entering this tent has been to turn different shades of crimson) before she hastily places her head back on her hands and tries for nonchalance.

 

And even though Lexa is smiling this amused smile that let’s Clarke know that she has at least a very good idea of what she was doing she doesn’t mention it. And Clarke breathes out a quiet sigh of relief when the only thing Lexa asks is “coconut oil or grape seed. and Clarke picks coconut.  
She turns her head to watch Lexa rub some into her palms. When her hands land on Clarke’s back she closes her eyes again and this time she can’t help the sigh that drifts out of her mouth.

 

She doesn’t need to see Lexa’s smile to know that its there.

 

Lexa’s fingers are long, gentle and warm as she spreads the oil from the point where Clarke’s back dips to her hips, up her back, across her shoulders and down her arms.

 

She repeats the motion a few times, working the oil into her skin and Clark realizes she doesn’t remember the last time anyone has done anything like this for her. Soothed aching muscles, rubbed her back, touched her without needing a touch or something else in return. Simple, uncloudy touches that meant no more than what they meant. It’s a bittersweet pleasure but Clarke wouldn’t give this moment up for anything.

 

“Clarke,” Lexa says softly, getting her attention “I’m going to need to straddle you now, is that okay?”

 

She thinks she may have had a mild stroke after the word, ‘straddle’ but she manages to choke out a, “yeah sure”

 

The bed dips slightly as Lexa gracefully settles herself on top of Clarke and Clarke’s heart is rebelling again, racing ahead and skipping beats in her chest as Lexa shifts into a comfortable position. Her thighs are on either side of Clarke’s sides and Clarke can feel the warmth of her skin through her trousers.

 

And even this is comfortable, Lexa’s weight on top of her. Even this fits.

 

“okay?’ Lexa asks, after a second. And Clarke simply nods, her throat dry. It’s more than okay.

 

Lexa starts the top of her back, just below her shoulder blades and as firm fingers dip to knead into sore muscles Clarke lets out an involuntary groan. Almost immediately she bites her lip, heat rushing to her face.

 

And Lexa chuckles.

 

“Clarke, relax. You can make any sound you want. That is kind of the point of this. Feel free.” And as if to accentuate her point, her fingers shift further down and knead into the muscles of clarke’s back again and Clarke lets out another involuntary groan. And at first it’s still embarrassing. But as Lexa settles into a rhythm, loosening the knots of the muscles in her back she finds that she doesn’t care. It’s an interesting mixture of pleasure and pain at first because apart from sore muscles she’s covered in all kinds of bruises.

 

But Lexa is good at this too, at using her hands. And pretty soon all she feels is pleasure. Lexa’s kneading shifts lower, from her shoulders to her back and Clarke has been moaning low in her throat so continually the sound of her contentment almost becomes a continuous hum. If she was a cat, she would be purring. She can still feel Lexa’s smile and occasionally she catches these soft sounds she knows is Lexa chuckling and it’s a small price to pay – a little vulnerability – for this kind of happiness.  
Lexa massages everywhere, kneading the muscles in her arms, her side and even her neck. Clarke thinks she’s started to learn which areas to target for which sounds because there are moments she pauses, and says, “Clarke?” like she’s asking a question and then her hand rubs, or kneads, presses and Clarke finds herself sighing or moaning or her breath catching in her throat. And always she senses Lexa’s smile.

 

And maybe there’s really nothing that Lexa’s not good at but maybe she’s okay with that. Her body feels like putty in Lexa’s hands, like melted wax, like water; Fully relaxed in the best possible way and Lexa’s hands are still moving, still targeting tensions she hadn’t known existed until they’re gone. And Clarke, Clarke is in seventh heaven. The more relaxed she becomes, the drowsier she feels.

 

And though she tries her best to keep them open, it’s not long before her eyes drift closed.

 

***

 

“Clarke, I’m done” Lexa announces when she is finally finished. Truthfully, she had been done at least ten minutes before; she’d just been loath to end the moment…or stop touching Clarke. But seeing as she couldn’t keep her hands on her all night ( not without Clarke’s permission anyway) Lexa sat back and wiped the excess oil from her hands. When there was no response from Clarke she leaned over to check on her. What she saw made her smile one of those soft, rare smiles that were just for Clarke.

 

The Sky princess was fast asleep, curled into the warmth of Lexa’s bed.

 

As carefully as she could, Lexa got off Clark. First she wiped off the excess oil off of Clarke’s back, arms and neck. Then she knelt to get a proper look at the sky people’s sleeping princess.

 

This is the most peaceful Lexa has ever seen her.

 

Usually, from what she had observed during their time travelling together, Clarke slept fitfully, plagued by nightmares and ready to fly awake at the slightest disturbance and reach for the nearest knife.

 

But now… Clarke looked peaceful, comfortable and so damn beautiful it made something in Lexa ache. She gently caressed Clarke’s cheek, running the back of her finger down the smooth warm skin, looked at the long lashes, the slightly parted lips and thought yes, yes she really could get used to this.

 

***

 

She’d just moved away to pour herself a cup of water when a messenger arrived, announcing that her generals humbly requested her presence. Lexa felt some of the warm contentment she’d been feeling drain away from her. At the end of the day, she still had duties and responsibilities that had nothing to do with Clarke. A whole nation of people to lead that had nothing to do with Clarke. Her generals probably just wanted to make a show of going over the war plans again just to convince themselves they were doing something while they waited for communication from Bellamy. Or worse, they wanted another opportunity to convince her not to trust the sky people. Or it was only a dispute, swords had been drawn and her presence was needed before blood was shed.

 

For none of these things did she want to give up Clarke. She’d give up to half her wealth right now for everyone to shove off and let her stay with the sleeping beauty until she awakened and even after that but…her people came first.

 

Always.  

 

She’d had to learn that lesson in hard ways over several years. The most painful of which was Costia.

 

And suddenly her Commander’s robe is a dozen times heavier across her shoulder’s than it normally is but she wears it all the same because she must…because someone has to and that someone is her.

 

But even if she has to leave, there’s no way in hell she’s leaving Clarke alone and unprotected. So Lexa summons Indra.

 

***

 

If the General seems a little surprised to be called to the Commander’s quarters at this time of the night, she is no longer surprised when she sees Clarke sound asleep in Lexa’s bed. She has only a second to note the fact that the sky girl is barely wearing anything to cover her torso and can only assume that there’s nothing covering the rest of her as well before the Commander lifts the covers around Clarke’s waist higher and tucks them just under her chin.

 

And Indra doesn’t miss how tender the commander’s actions are. Or the kiss she places on Clarke’s cheek.

 

She forgets herself for a second and raises an eyebrow as the Commander exits her sleeping quarters and for all that Lexa seems to have developed quite a soft spot for Clarke, she’s still Heda. She straightens but doesn’t even need to draw herself up to her full height as she fixes a steady gaze on Indra that dares her to ask. And it’s a testament to Indra’s own self-pride and stubbornness that the intensity of Lexa’s dark gaze doesn’t make her duck her head and bow but still, she can only hold Lexa’s gaze for so long before she has to shift her eyes away.

 

"Heda,” she says, as respectfully as she can. And the question she wants to ask is burning on the tip of her tongue. Are you sleeping with her? Because this doesn’t just affect Lexa it affects all of them.

 

But she knows it is not a question that Lexa would answer anyway so she clenches her jaws around her question, straightens her back, lets it burn inside till some of that pride forces her head up to meet the commander’s eyes.

 

And there’s the slightest twitch at the corner of Lexa’s mouth like she knows what Indra is struggling with but she makes no mention of it as she addresses the commander.

 

“Clarke has fallen asleep.” She says. And Indra notes that too, the way she lowers her voice to keep from disturbing the sky girl, whether she realizes it or not. “I’m headed off to a meeting but there are enough of us upset by this alliance that I couldn’t leave Clarke without protection.

 

“I am not some hired bodyguard that can be assigned to whichever sky-person you wish at the moment Commander.” She protests coldly.

 

Lexa considers her with unreadable eyes and for a second she thinks she’s overstepped her bounds and is just about to apologize, however stiffly when Lexa surprises her by agreeing.

 

“No, you are not. You are a warrior, one of my greatest generals and just about the only person I would trust with Clarke.”

 

And despite herself, Indra’s spine straightens at the praise, because being trusted with Clarke, means more than just guarding just another sky person. It means being trusted an important leader of the Sky-People as well as with a piece of the Commander’s heart.

 

“I can trust you, can't I Indra?” Lexa asks softly and there’s a new intensity in her gaze as she searches Indra’s face.

 

The General finds herself straightening up even further. “of course commander.” she says, firm and strong and sure. *Always* she thinks. But she doesn't add that. she's pretty sure Lexa already knows.

 

“Good.” Lexa says. “I am leaving her in your hands then. And when I get back, not a single blond hair on her head should have been touched by anyone other than me. Understand Indra? Not. A. Single. Blonde. Hair.” and the Commander’s voice may be quiet but it’s no less dangerous as she regards her general.

 

“Understood Heda”

 

Lexa turns to look at Clarke one more time and Indra doesn’t miss that either, the emotions that flicker across her eyes: the fondness, the yearning, the desire, the regret. Tenderness. before she sweeps out of the tent.

 

Indra’s hand tightens on the shaft of her spear.

 

And then it’s just Indra and Clarke.


	2. Anytime

Personally?

 

Indra has nothing against Clarke.

 

Personally? She rather likes the Sky Girl. Clarke is spirited, clever, beautiful and a thousand and one other adjectives that Indra could name but most importantly of all, she's strong and on the ground, strength is the one thing that matters most; it’s how you survive.

 

All these things however, don't  change the fact that Clarke is not one of them and no amount of time spent in the Commander’s bed can change that.  

 

Her people are different, her ways are different and even Clarke's strength is different. It comes from her heart and her head, a mixture of the two. Being born on the ground does not offer the grounders the same liberty. They are tied to the ground, rooted in practicality, experience and logic. Their strength is from their head. It is the only way they’ve made it this far.

 

And so maybe Lexa is a visionary, because she walks on elevated feet, her head high, eyes looking at something most of them can’t even dream they’ll see.

 

Peace.

 

It’s what all this war is for.

 

Indra smirks at the bitter irony.

 

Lexa has always been different, her feet never fully on the ground even when she was a child, always wondering whether their way was _the_ way, always ready to take one more step and lift up into the sky. Costia had seen it.

 

And for a short while Lexa had defied all odds and walked on air, had had both leadership and love and soared higher and higher, closer and closer to the burning sun (that tonight is the colour of Clarke’s hair).

 

She hadn’t needed wings of wax. Just love. But she was stripped of them all the same and came crashing back to the ground. And it took a broken heart and a whole lot of scars to keep her there. She’s seen for herself that ideals and good intentions are next to worthless. Seen that love cannot survive for long here. Seen that the ground is a place for just heads or if you’re reckless and willing to die quick, just hearts but not a mixture. But Indra knows that despite everything, despite the fall, there’s a part of Lexa, the part she seals away, the part she likes to pretend doesn’t exist that’s just dying to walk back into the sky again.

 

Lexa has always reached for something more and as their leader she’s pulled them all up with her. With her feet firmly on the ground but looking up at the sky, Indra understands the temptation to walk on air. She looks at Polis, at the twelve coalitions, at what Lexa has done that no other commander has ever dreamed of and she understands. She’s just terrified one more fall will break her. she has seen the kind of damage losing a loved one had done and she would rather not see it again.

 

She remembers a time when Lexa’s eyes weren’t pools but pits. A time when the Commander truly didn’t feel anything; where she wasn’t ruthless but the embodiment of ruthlessness;

 

A time when Lexa spilt blood like it was water she could use to wash away the sin of not being able to protect Costia only to realize too late that blood was just blood and there was no absolution to be found in more deaths.

 

She remembers a time when she was truly, to her bones afraid of Lexa and a time when she was afraid for Lexa. A time when she spent nights guarding the commander’s chamber, much like now, only to hear the taboo sound of Lexa crying, her sobs muffled by the pillows on her bed.

 

She remembers that time and personally, if she had her way, she’d ship the sky girl over to the ark right now before the attachment grew too deep. Personally, she’d have no part in watching them trade their hearts only to have them broken. But this isn’t personal it’s about duty. She has her orders.

 

 _Not a single blonde hair on her head huh?_ Sure.

 

Indra tightened her hold on her spear and straightened her spine.

 

She could do that.

***

By the time Lexa got back to the tent she was in a hell of a mood.

 

She’d been right. The General’s had just wanted to go over figures and spout more ridiculous theories about the Sky People’s ‘true purpose’. Hearing the same thing over and over again had set her teeth on edge and it was only through sheer force of will that Lexa had made it through with even the slightest hint of decorum.

 

When she stalked into her tent and met Indra alert, her spear already raised in the direction of the intruder she felt some of the tension of the night leave her.

 

“well done General.” She praised and Indra gave her a dry half-smile and inclined her head in acknowledgement.

 

“Has she woken up?” Lexa asked her, moving to the curtain that sealed off her sleeping quarters.

 

“See for yourself,” Indra said.

 

Lexa didn’t understand the amusement in her tone until she lifted the curtain and took a step inside. Clarke was still fast asleep. But nowhere close to the position she’d been in when Lexa was leaving. Somehow she’d managed to roll to the center of the bed and lay sprawled over most of it though the blanket still covered her up to her shoulders. Clarke’s mouth had managed to drift open a little and the tiniest sliver of drool was making its way onto one of her pillows.

 

Lexa chuckled at the picture she made. It was… quite adorable actually. “Has she been like this since I left.” She asked Indra without taking her eyes of Clarke, her voice a whisper.  

 

The general lets out a quiet snort. “she shifts her position every twenty minutes. It’s a wonder she hasn’t ended up on the floor.”

 

Lexa grins at the image. Then she turns to the General and the grin fades away though her eyes are still warm, sincere. “thank you for looking after her for me Indra.” And the general inclines her head at the thanks, allowing the corner of her mouth to twitch upwards slightly. She should leave it there she knows, accept the commander’s thanks and walk out, but if anything happens and it will happen because something always happens, she can’t accept that she never said anything while she had the chance. She has watched Lexa fall apart once and seen the damage it threatened to all their people.

 

She will not do so again.

 

When Indra makes no move to leave Lexa regards her with a raised eyebrow. “anything else General.” She asks and her voice manages to be mildly curious and at the same time dismissive; suggesting she might want to know but not inviting any real discussion.

 

Indra surprises her. “yes, actually.”

 

She straightens when the warmth in Lexa’s eyes fades away.

 

“Listen to me please, Heda and if you want to punish me for this, punish me. But I must say it – ”

 

“Indra – ” Lexa begins turning away but Indra catches her wrist, arresting her progress. Lexa looks down at her hand, shocked. No other general would have dared touch her like that. No other general would have been allowed to live. Indra slowly removes her hand under Lexa’s cold gaze but doesn’t shrink back. And maybe that earns her the little more respect required to make Lexa actually listen.

 

“This will not end well.” She says bluntly and Lexa shuts her mouth with a click, her jaw clenching but when she doesn’t make any other move to stop her, Indra takes it as an invitation to continue speaking.

 

“We need you to be ruthless to win this war but that’s not what my problem is. Understand this Heda, that no matter what happens, or how you feel about her, you will always be on different sides. When push comes to shove, Clarke will always choose her people over you. And you would do the same. So it might not happen a day from now, a week from now or even a month from now but eventually you will be put in a position where you have to choose between your duty and your heart. And if you choose your people, which you will, then Clarke’s heart breaks and you break your own in the process. And if Clarke is faced with her choice and she chooses her people and she will, then your heart breaks again and her heart breaks in the process. Either way, Heda, there is a price you pay for these moments. And when the time comes. I am just hoping that the price will not be too much to bear. This-” she said, glancing pointedly at Clarke, “will not end well.”

 

And Lexa is silent for a long time, absorbing. The smile that had hovered around the edges of her mouth on seeing Clarke is completely gone and Indra is sorry to see it go but someone has to be the voice of reason and she would much rather it be her so that the commander can hear this sooner rather than later.

 

“Thank you General, you may go now.” Lexa says eventually, turning her back to her and Indra, not missing the dismissal, bows and leaves. She’s said all that she needed to say.

 

And then it’s just Lexa and Clarke.

***

For a moment, Lexa considers whether to leave Clarke the bed and settle into her throne or spend the night on the ground but in the end she decides against it. It’s been a long day. It’s a huge bed. And considering that their days appeared to be numbered anyway, she might as well enjoy the time with Clarke that she has left. In consideration of her feelings, Lexa plans to settle right at the end and keep her hands to herself.

 

She strips out of her Commanders uniform and hangs it up but even taking off the weight of the fabric from her shoulders is not enough to remove the weight that’s settled on her heart. Indra’s words are still ringing in her ears, searing themselves into her brain with every repetition.

 

_This will not end well._

 

_This will not end well._

 

_This will not end well._

 

Lexa rubs her hand over her face and makes a sound of frustration because truthfully…

 

No, it probably won’t.

 

But the real tragedy is that for the life of her…she can’t quite bring  up the desire to let go of Clarke.

 

 _Love makes fools of us all._ She thinks drily.

 

She doesn't even know when it happened because the truth was she had been falling for Clarke almost from the first day they met: the sky princess with hair like sunlight and eyes the color of clear blue skies; she just hadn’t realized she’d _fallen._

 

She could trace the path of her deepening feelings for Clarke: The night Clarke begged her to say goodbye to Finn and she’d seen that first glimpse of Clarke’s peculiar strength that had earned her Lexa’s admiration. Running from the Pauna, Clarke saving her life, staying up to watch over Clarke through the night and into the early hours of the morn, seeing dawn break and hearing Clarke’s soft breaths turn to gentle snores; even with a dislocated shoulder and a mutated beast after them, just that had been enough to make her smile and she knew then that she was in trouble.

 

She should have caught herself before the bombing at TonDC, before the kiss in the tent and Lexa swallows hard at the memory.

 

Now it's too late.

 

Because sometimes when Clarke looks at her, her head turned just right, sunlight falling on the clear blue of her eyes and turning the seas to skies she thinks, that she might just literally be weak in the knees.

 

The truth washes over her like a wave, cool and bittersweet and Lexa closes her eyes against the emotions, trying to overwhelm her – tug her down to cool, wet depths where everything is quiet and everything makes sense because it’s just her and the beating of her heart…and Clarke. She’s fighting not to be swept away and takes another deep breath. Exhales slowly.

 

Love is weakness, she reminds herself. The words are hollow where conviction should be.

 

But even if she doesn’t quite believe it anymore, not really, not after weeks of watching Clarke whose ever generous heart showed no signs of weakness it doesn't matter.

 

Clarke is her weakness, which is why this can’t be.

 

Her people can’t afford her to be weak.

 

With that simple truth, Lexa can finally breathe, properly. She knows her duty, seals her heart.

 

Tomorrow morning, she will draw up new boundary lines. She would explain why she had to end…whatever this was with Clarke. and if her heart broke just a little bit and she broke Clarke’s as well, so be it. It was better that it happened now and got patched up before the battle than later when Clarke was more attached; she would break this before Clarke could fall for her too.

It’s ironic, that she had started this whole thing between them and just when it seemed like she was getting somewhere – like Clarke might actually be ready to try being with someone again, she would have to end it.

 

Maybe they had never even stood a chance from the beginning.

 

With a weary sigh, Lexa slips into her side of the bed in just her tank top and trousers.

 

Clarke is still spread out like a starfish in the middle of the bed, soundly sleeping and despite everything she’s feeling she can’t resist the urge to smile.

 

She could, however, resist the urge to touch Clarke, even if just barely; to resist the urge to see if her skin was just as smooth and warm and soft as she remembered…

 

 _Enough._ She tells herself sternly and turns over on her side, away from Clarke. Away from her warmth and the light of the candle.

 

Lexa closes her eyes but she knows she won’t be falling asleep anytime soon.

***

She hates it when she’s right.

 

Sometime during the night, Clarke gravitates towards Lexa, cuddling against her back. One hand ends up draped around Lexa’s waist and Clarke’s head is resting just behind hers, against her neck.

 

And if Lexa had found it difficult to sleep before, she finds it nearly impossible now with Clarke’s warm breath washing slow and steady over her skin, sending chills down her spine and making goose-bumps rise. Her neck tingles.

 

She shivers.

 

Clarke's bare chest is pressing into her back. At some point, she must have removed the bra completely and gone back to sleep. And the heat from Clarke’s body is seeping straight through her clothes, sinking into her skin, pooling between her legs... Lexa bites her lip and fights the urge to turn, pull Clarke’s body flush against hers and kiss her. Everywhere.

 

Her fingers clench around a handful of fur at the image.

 

She forces herself to keep still.

 

But Clarke shifts closer, a soft sigh slipping from her lips. Lexa exhales as well if a little shakily. Every time Clarke moves, her chest rubs against her back and there’s fire where before there were only sparks.

 

Another minute and Clarke's arms tighten around her and she moves to nuzzle into Lexa's neck. As she does, her thigh slips between Lexa's, inches away from damp, throbbing heat.

 

The commander turns her face into the furs and groans, the sound muffled.

 

Dear gods this girl was going to kill her.

 

Lexa waits until she's sure Clarke is once again safely asleep and then she shifts carefully away from Clarke and rolls onto her back.

 

She tries to convince herself that it was just the heat of the tent that had her breath coming out in short pants and perspiration beading on her forehead; that it had nothing to do with the girl next to her, nothing at all.

 

When Clarke stays still and Lexa’s breathing returns to normal, she can almost make herself believe it.

 

It isn't long, however, before Clarke shifts again, curling right up against Lexa with her head on her chest.

 

Lexa freezes, her heart tripping at the unexpected contact.

 

She wasn’t used to being touched so freely; couldn’t remember the last time anyone had rested against her like Clarke was doing. There is such simple trust implicit in the gesture, such vulnerability that there’s a part of her that wants to tell Clarke not to trust her; to pick up her heart and run as far away from Lexa as she can.

 

The other part… the other part tries to figure out what to do with her hands.

 

Eventually, she lays one on the small of Clarke’s back and tries not to think about how Clarke's skin burns to the touch. She rests the other hand underneath her head and lies, letting her eyes trace patterns in the darkness, counting Clarke’s heart beats against hers.

1..

2..

3…

4…

5…

 

“Did I fall asleep?” Clarke’s husky voice is a surprise. Lexa glances down and Clarke is still lying against her, rubbing her eyes.

 

There’s a slow spread of warmth for Clarke then that reaches through her chest like unfurling petals, like the sun rising upon a cold day.

like fingers curling out of a fist.

 

Lexa forgets the heaviness in her heart for just a moment.

 

“Yes.” she murmurs. And now Clarke is awake, Lexa can’t resist, let’s her fingers draw abstract patterns against her warm skin.

 

She really is beautiful she thinks as Clarke draws the sheet up and around herself and lifts herself up to meet Lexa’s gaze.

 

“Thank you,” she whispers and the low light from the candle doesn’t prevent Lexa from seeing the sincerity shining out of Clarke’s eyes.

 

something flips in her stomach to see Clarke looking at her like that. She doesn’t remember the last time anyone has thanked her for anything. Her duty is to her people after all; what she gives, is oath bound to give and what they take, it is their right to take. Thank you's, quiet, sincere ones with an understanding born of the knowledge that whatever she does (even honoring an oath) are rare.

 

“it was just a massage Clarke” she points out quietly.

 

“no, not just for that...though it was amazing”

 

Lexa smiles.

 

“For everything you’ve done, for caring, for protecting me, encouraging me, everything. This is the first time I’ve slept without nightmares in years” she adds quietly. And it’s a strange mixture of pleasure and pain that has her heart squeezing in her chest.

 

She should tell her now, before she can’t bear to anymore.

 

But Lexa has barely gotten past her name, “Clarke- “ before Clarke is stretching upwards.

 

She moves,  slowly, cautiously and it’s mostly because of that caution that Lexa stills, wondering what she’s doing. Clarke presses a lingering kiss to the underside of Lexa’s jaw. Right against her pulse. And Lexa shivers, her eyes drifting shut at the sensation, at the heat of the desire that Clarke has kindled.

 

She... she needs to tell her before they get carried away.

 

“Clarke – ” Lexa tries again, her voice husky and raw. But Clarke is already moving, letting her nose trace a trail to the other side of Lexa’s jaw and Lexa can taste the thank you even before it is pressed into her skin. Her eyes drift closed again, savoring the sweetness of Clarke’s gratitude.

 

Clarke is rested and content and exploring, her teeth nipping lightly along Lexa’s jaw, her mouth drifting leisurely down Lexa’s neck. Soft kisses land on her collarbone, like butterfly wings brushing along her skin and Lexa takes a deep shaky breath trying to steady herself.

 

Clarke traces reverent fingertips over the tribal tattoo on her arm. Lexa trembles.

 

When Clarke lifts her head to look her in the eyes, Lexa’s feels like she’s sinking upward into a sea of smiling blue. Clarke dusts kisses along Lexa’s cheek, places one right at the corner of her lips and lifts her head when she hears a quiet gasp. Clarke’s gaze flickers to her lips and back, asking for permission with her eyes. and Lexa could stop her, should, doesn’t want to as Clarke leans closer, and closer until her lips sink into hers. She lets out a small moan and Clarke deepens the kiss without hesitation.

 

And she can feel it now, all the way to her bones, that Clarke cares too.

 

Clarke’s mouth slides against hers for one…two… three…. slow seconds and when Clarke pulls back, Lexa chases her lips, joins them again in another kiss.

 

She’s burning and as Clarke leans back Lexa follows so that she ends up with half her body on top of Clarke;s and for a while everything is moist heat and pleasure.

 

Lexa sinks into the feeling.

 

When she finally pulls back, she's not the only one whose panting.

 

Clarke gives her this tiny smile that trembles ever so slightly at the corners and Lexa knows the smile is a combination of nerves and want. For the first time, it occurs to her that she’s not the only one battling with her heart, or scared to give in to whatever this was. She thought it was just because of Finn that Clarke wasn’t ready yet but now she realizes it’s not, it’s everything. She bears the weight of leadership too. owes it her people to put them first too and somehow, the knowledge that she’s not alone brings Lexa just a little bit more peace.

 

“So, now what?” Clarke asks softly and Lexa knows that she isn’t just talking about now but every moment after that.

 

Her heart thuds, loud in her own ears. If she is going to walk away, this is when she should do it, this is her out.

 

Clarke watches her, eyes demanding nothing, steady in the silence. If Lexa takes the plunge, she will too. The promise is written in the darkness of her eyes. If she doesn’t, there won’t be any hard feelings.

 

And Lexa _knows_ , Lexa has always known but she takes a moment to consider Clarke anyway, to let the back of her knuckles stroke lightly against her cheek, fingers combing through Clarke’s hair before they glide down her arm (and its Clarke’s turn to shiver then) to tangle her fingers with hers.

 

“Slow.” She says, her voice low and huskier than she’d thought it would be. “we will go slowly, and figure it out. How’s that.”

 

A heartbeat passes, two as Clarke considers her before her face slowly splits into a dazzling smile. “I think that sounds about right.”

 

Lexa finds herself smiling too and lets her thumbs rub circles into the back of Clarke’s hand while Clarke’s eyes grow soft and dark at the contact.

 

And suddenly Lexa wants to forget slow, slide her fingers under the pleasant weight of Clarke’s hair, pull her properly into her arms so that Clarke is flush against her and kiss her with all the yearning, heated desire burning up inside her; trace worshipful kisses down Clarke’s neck, down the valley between Clarke’s breasts and lower still till Clarke sighs and trembles and moans.

 

But she can’t be that selfish with Clarke. she won’t.

 

She wants this to work. More than anything.

 

And maybe her people can forgive one weakness if that weakness is Clarke because Clarke _is_ strength, a different kind from a different land but a destroyer of enemies and protector of allies all the same; a commander in her own right.

 

So instead she rolls off Clarke and turns to face her. she brushes Clarke’s hair behind her ear, lets her fingers trace new patterns into Clarke’s cheeks. When Clarke closes her eyes and leans into Lexa’s touch she knows it is enough. Clarke turns her head, ever so slightly to press a kiss to Lexa’s palm and Lexa swallows. Her palm burns but when she cups Clarke’s face in her palms, the kiss she leans down to give her is tender instead of passionate.

 

“Go back to sleep.” She murmurs and it’s almost worth sacrificing everything else they could have done to feel Clarke smiling against her mouth.

 

“only if you’ll be sleeping with me.”

 

Lexa can’t help smiling too. That much goes without saying.

 

Clarke lies down, curling into her again, but she doesn’t go to sleep immediately, playing instead with the fabric of Lexa’s top.

 

Lexa lets her.

 

“So is this going to become a thing?” Clarke murmurs eventually. Lexa knows she’s talking about spending the night in her tent.

 

Lexa considers her words carefully.

 

“If you want it to, then yes” Lexa says softly. Clarke’s nod against her is an affirmation and she turns her head to press a kiss to Clarke’s hair. Clarke smiles into her shoulder.

 

The seconds tick by but Clarke still doesn’t sleep and Lexa waits for the rest. In the near darkness of her room, Clarke curled against her, Lexa finds herself growing drowsy, sinking into the rare presence of peace.

 

“one other thing?” Clarke says, and her uncertainty makes it sound like a question.

 

“anything.” Lexa murmurs immediately.

 

“Hold me?” Clarke whispers. And there’s a new level of vulnerability in Clarke’s voice that Lexa has never heard before.

 

Its moments like this that slay her; moments like this when she would have picked up her heart and run. Now she knows she’s not going to.

 

Instead she wraps her arms securely around Clarke and let’s her shift even closer so that Clarkes’ head is tucked into the hollow between her shoulder and her neck. Lexa lets her head rest against hers.

 

“Is this okay?” she asks Clarke in a whisper and Clarke nods, the movement tickling the side of Lexa’s neck. She sighs, getting even more comfortable in Lexa’s arms.

 

“It’s perfect.”

 

And it is.

 

She’s not going to break anything between them prematurely because Lexa knows that this: everything she has with Clarke even if she can’t define it yet, this, is worth fighting for. Quiet days and loving nights.

Coming home to kindness, and warmth and peace and _Clarke._ she’s not just letting that go. 

 

Duty before her heart; her people, before Clarke she knows the rules. And she intends to keep them. But within those lines she’s holding onto Clarke for as long as she can.

 

No matter what.

 

It’s the last thing she thinks before she drifts off into a deep, peaceful sleep.

 

***

 

Another day passes and with no word from Bellamy the mood in the grounder’s camp plunges further downward.

 

It doesn’t help that Clarke had to go back to her people; sitting and waiting had started to drive her insane. She wanted to be up close, right up against the radio listening.

 

She had to be up close, encouraging her people.

 

Lexa had seen her off, and with all the grounder generals and half the soldiers watching it hadn’t exactly been the most intimate of goodbye’s, just the tiniest nod of Lexa’s head in acknowledgement and the tiniest flicker of one of Clarke’s smiles. They clasped hands.

 

And then Clarke was on her horse and off to Arkadia.

 

Lexa likes to imagine her face though, when she’s far enough away that she dares look at the present she slipped into her palm.

 

A familiar purple flower edged in gold.

 

She pictures Clarke’s smile and it’s enough.

 

***

 

When another day passes, and yet another with no word from the Sky people except that there was nothing to report, Lexa starts becoming restless. And she’s not the only one. Her generals are restless, her soldiers are restless, even Indra stalks around, barking orders louder and sharper than usual over nothing much.

 

Lexa is used to the thousand and one old reasons she has to be restless: her people stuck in the mountain, what seemed like a fading opportunity to defeat one of their greatest enemies, the threat to her position that any sign of weakness brought.

 

But the one new addition to her restlessness that is foreign is Clarke.

 

It’s only been two days; she didn’t think she would miss her as much as she does.

 

And she does.

 

Miss Clarke.

 

A lot.

 

She gives it another day and then takes Indra and Nyko and crosses over to the sky people.

 

On the day of their journey, the sky is overcast, filled with thick gray clouds that look like they would like nothing more than to drench them in heaven’s tears. She can imagine the sky misses Clarke as well and that thought makes her smile despite the weather. Indra advises her to wait. She can’t stand the idea of delay. She goes anyway. And she knows the general is not fooled though she doesn’t say a word about it.

 

It seems like every eye is on them from the moment they enter the camp. Men, women and children all pause whatever they’re doing just to stare but the one pair of sky blue eyes, the only pair Lexa actually cares about isn’t there.

 

Lexa straightens her spine but there’s no disdain in her gaze as she meets their eyes, no malice for the most part. Just steadiness. Just authority.

 

Quiet power.

 

After all, they were Clarke’s people. That counted for something.

 

Maybe one day, they would be her people too.

 

Lexa and her travelling companions are met graciously by the Chancellor and Kane and Lexa inclines her head to their greetings but she’s only interested in one thing.

 

“Clarke?” she asks and behind her she can feel Nyko and Indra share a knowing glance. She doesn’t care about that either.

 

The Chancellor and Kane are surprised but they offer to take her to Clarke all the same, Abby a little more reluctantly than Kane.

 

Everything about the Ark is grey: grey steel, grey rubber, grey plastic, grey iron. Coming from a world throbbing with Colour: deep browns and vivid greens, bright yellows, Lexa will never understand why anyone will voluntarily choose to stay here when they could be outside.

 

They near what Lexa assumes are Clarke’s chambers and for the most part, she ignores the unease and distrust written all over the chancellor’s face.

 

When they reach the door she turns to thank her two guides and it’s clear that she can take it from here. Kane gets the message immediately and gives a small bow before he turns to leave. Abby gets the message too but she locks eyes with Lexa. The warning in her gaze is clear.

 

_If you hurt her, you’ll have me to deal with._

 

Lexa merely lifts her head up higher but as the chancellor turns to go, she has earned a little bit more of Lexa’s respect and even the tiniest of one of her smiles.

 

Clarke is surrounded by people who love her _and_ would fight and die for her. No wonder so much of her strength comes from her heart.

 

Lexa is surrounded by people who need her and fear her and obey her because tradition demands it; because she holds their lives in the palm of her hands. If they love her, then their love is tied up in their need for her: they love Heda, protector of their nation and bringer of prosperity, the Commander’s spirit in a new host. The few that have loved just her, just Lexa, have died for it. or they’ve been killed at her own hand: Costia, Anya, Gustus…

 

Her strength comes from her head for a reason.

 

Clarke…. Clarke is her only weakness now.

***

Clarke’s room is no different from the rest of the ark: cast in grey and filled with shadows as the light supposed to be filtering in through the single window is dimmed by the clouds outside. Clarke hasn’t bothered to switch on the lights, instead positioning herself directly opposite the window in a patch of dull light.

 

The only thing that seems to have any color in the room is Clarke; Clarke’s golden hair, Clarke’s deep blue jacket, Clarke’s sky blue eyes. Lexa’s can't stop looking at her. She doesn’t hurry to draw attention to herself.

 

Pieces of paper of various sizes are littered across the floor and across Clarke’s lap and each and every one is covered in some drawing or other. In the middle of this chaos is Clarke, her pencil scratching furiously across paper.

 

 _She draws when she’s really happy or really upset,_ Lexa remembers Octavia’s words from a lifetime ago.

 

Judging from the scowl across her face, Lexa was going to bet she was really upset.

 

She’s worried it’s not the best time for a visit but she hesitates for only a second before drawing Clarke’s attention by stepping further into the room and closing the door behind her with a quiet click.

 

Clarke startles, her head jerking up immediately.

 

When she spots Lexa, she lights up (because Clarke always lights up for Lexa)  and Lexa lets herself relax. But even as she steps closer with her own smile she can’t help noticing a couple of things (because she notices everything about Clarke).

 

She hasn’t been sleeping well: her eyes are tired despite their shine, slight shadows lining them that Lexa notices despite the dim lights. Her smile is tired as well, pleased but, tired. When Lexa gets closer she can see that Clarke’s eyes are rimmed red, like she’s been crying and instead of her usual sky blue, her eyes are the colour of a stormy sea; She wonders what’s happened in the last three days to produce his change but doesn’t ask as Clarke clears a space for her and she settles down cross legged on the ark’s steel floor. (Her knee brushes Clarke’s and her skin tingles.)

 

Clarke’s watching her she realizes, eyes unabashedly flicking over her face and form. Heat creeps into her face as she meets Clarke’s gaze.

 

Clarke’s expression is fond, the smile on her face growing wider as she observes the blush blooming across Lexa's cheeks. 

 

“god I’ve missed you.” Lexa whispers suddenly. The moment the words leave her mouth her eyes widen. she she purses her lips though its already too late to try to keep the words in. Suddenly, she’s tense and guarded as she looks at Clarke, feeling like she’s revealed too much.

 

But Clarke’s eyes are soft on her, soft and tender. She leans forward, and Lexa isn’t expecting the lingering kiss she places on her cheek. Her heart skips a beat. “I’ve missed you too.” Clarke breathes against her skin. When Lexa turns Clarke rests her forehead against hers and Lexa is resting right back.

 

There’s something about the way Clarke leans into her that keeps her still, like Clarke needs her to be there. So Lexa doesn’t move, just breathes in and out and feels the tight coil of tension that had been building for the past few days unwind, feels her restlessness flow away. Peace. Peace is what she feels with Clarke. she needed this too.

 

One heartbeat.

 

Two.

 

Three.

 

Four.

 

And Clarke breaks away slowly. She offers another smile that has sadness flickering around the edges and turns back to her drawing. Now Lexa is concerned.

 

“Just visiting, or are you staying?” Clarke asks before she can say anything, sorting through the sheets in front of her for an empty piece of paper.

 

“That depends on the rain I think.” And Clarke grins at her because if the thick grey clouds are any indication, they’re definitely staying.

 

“May I?” she asks, indicating the drawings and when Clarke nods, she picks up a handful of them. It looks like Clarke’s drawn everything: the ark, a two headed ox, the grounder’s camp, Lexa’s tent, Lexa’s throne, Lexa’s bed –

 

Lexa glances at Clarke and there’s a dusting of red reaching up to her ears. Lexa hides her smile and keeps looking –

 

There’s a butterfly in colours so vivid she feels like it could lift off the page, a violet flower edged in gold – another glance, and the red in Clarke’s face has increased –

 

Lexa laughs.

 

Clarke smacks her on the knee and glares at her without any heat. She’s smiling, the blush on her face exquisitely beautiful.

 

It takes effort for Lexa to turn her attention back to the drawings.

 

There are Black and white images of Clark’s mother and Kane and a darker men and boy all together.

She knows him, Clarke has mentioned him in passing once before : Wells. The man she also recognizes, he tried to hold a knife to her throat when he didn’t know that Lexa was also the Commander. He learnt his lesson quickly.

 

“would you like to try?” Clarke asks, settling back. She’s finally found the plain sheets she was looking for.

 

“It depends” Lexa says carefully. “is this part of the challenge?”

 

Clarke pauses to look at her, amusement sparkling in her eyes. “you know, I’d almost forgotten about that.”

 

Lexa understood what she meant. It felt like it had been a lifetime ago since Clarke had issued her challenge, in a good way. A lot could change in a few days.

 

“It wouldn’t be fair though, would it. you going up against a pro at all” Clarke teases, a smile tipping the corner of her mouth. Lexa raises an eyebrow at her and Clarke laughs outright.

 

She hands Lexa a piece of paper and shifts a tray of assorted drawing materials her way.

 

“Here. Draw whatever comes to you.”

 

It wasn’t even a surprise that the first thing that comes to Lexa’s mind is Clarke.

 

She had no idea what they were after last night because it was like nothing had changed and at the same time everything had.

 

And Clarke _was_ upset. Less so than when she entered, but when her attention is not on Lexa and she withdraws back into herself, Lexa can see it.

 

Clarke has settled back into her drawing, and the frown is back on her face, though it’s less severe than before. Her eyes were lighter, less the colour of a stormy sea and more the colour of a storm. Her strokes where sharp but precise; she was drawing with a kind of controlled frenzy that made it seem almost as if her pencil was going to pierce through the paper at any moment though it never actually did.

 

“Do you want to talk about it” Lexa offers, while picking out her colours. Clarke pauses, and her grip tightens on her pencil so hard, Lexa is afraid she’ll snap it right in half. Clarke gives a jerky shake of her head, tosses the first sheet full of angry shadows aside, takes a deep breath and starts drawing again and Lexa understands. Frustration is part of being a leader.

 

So, she decides not to draw Clarke; the last thing she wants to do was push forward and have her pull back.

 

Slowly.

 

Instead, Lexa draws a familiar river and beside it a large flat rock, sunlight streaming down in watery rays. She remembered what it felt like to lay on her back side by side, with Clarke, arms almost touching but not quite and have the sunlight kiss her face.

The hours slip by and Lexa slips deeper and deeper into the serenity of the moment. Even Clarke’s underlying anger has mellowed. Somewhere along the way she had put the second sheet full of fierce strokes aside and has started drawing something that actually has a slight smile tipping the corner of her mouth. Every time Lexa tries to peek Clarke leans away with a grin.

 

“uh-uh,” she tells her, actually waggling a finger. “not until its done.” Lexa always smirks and turns back to her drawing. But she always tries again until she has Clarke laughing out loud at her antics.

 

Then she stops trying to peek. Waiting isn’t exactly a problem for her.

 

Everything in life simply takes as long as it takes.

 

The scene takes form under her hands. It doesn’t quite have Clarke’s level of precision, or Clarke’s control but it doesn’t matter because she’s painting emotions and colour. And its actually kind of beautiful.

 

“That’s one of my favourite memories” Clarke murmurs over her shoulder, startling Lexa who’d been engrossed in her drawing. She’s leaning forward to peer at the paper in Lexa’s hands.

 

“Mine too.” Lexa admits. Clarke smiles but as she reaches over a hand to lightly brush over the two figures on the rock, Lexa pulls her sheet away, placing it on the floor beside her where Clarke can’t see. “uh-uh-uh,” she repeats, repeating Clarke’s own finger waving back at her.

 

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours Clarke.” and it’s one of those things that has a double meaning and Lexa hears it as soon as she says the words. Clarke raises her eyebrows at her, as if to see _really?_ amusement written all over her face. There’s laughter threatening welling up from somewhere deep inside her but Lexa purses her lips against it, merely lifting an eyebrow.

 

 _Well?_ It says.

 

And Clarke rolls her eyes but she’s grinning as she reaches for her sketch and pulls it into her lap. It’s a bigger sheet than the others and Lexa is genuinely curious to see what Clarke has drawn.

 

“what is it?” Lexa asks. The sketch is face down in Clarke’s lap so she still can’t tell.

 

“um,” Clarke bites her lip and her cheeks are turning pink again.

 

Well. That’s interesting.

 

“Maybe you should see for yourself.” She says, passing it over.

 

When Lexa finally gets a good look at the drawing, her breath catches in her throat.

 

“oh – “she murmurs softly.

 

“Do you like it?” Clarke asks, and there’s the slightest hint of nervousness in her voice.

 

No she doesn’t like it.

 

She loves it.

 

Clarke has drawn her but like she’s never seen.

 

Clarke has drawn her in her room, half covered by the furs and fast asleep in her bed. It’s the night she gave her the massage. The woman Clarke has drawn is heart stoppingly- beautiful. Her skin glows, bathed in the first hints of dawn as light begins to diffuse into the tent. Fast asleep, sunlight just beginning to spread over skin turned bronze by all the time spent training Clarke, her dark hair loosened from its braids and fanning out over her back she looks like some tranquil goddess. Clarke has gotten every detail right, even the tattoos on her arms.

 

She’d woken up to watch her?

 

Lexa turns her attention back to Clarke, touched, awed. “this is how you see me?”

 

And Clarke smiles, shakes her head. “this is how you are, Lexa.”

 

She feels a sudden rush of tenderness and warmth towards Clarke and Clarke’s beaming at her like she gets it. Lexa is reluctant to put the picture down but eventually hands it over to Clarke, who shakes her head.

 

“Keep it. It’s yours. Think of it as a going away present”

 

Lexa beams at her and Clarke returns her smile. But hers fades before Lexa’s does. Something flickers in her eyes and she turns away. And now Lexa’s getting worried.

 

“Clarke?” She asks. When Clarke doesn’t turn to her, Lexa takes hold of her chin and gently turns her head to face her. “what’s wrong?”

 

Clarke seems to struggle with herself for a whole minute. Lexa’s startled to see tears suddenly spring to Clarke’s eyes. Clarke bites down on her lip so hard she breaks the skin. At the same time the pencil in Clarke’s hands snaps.

 

“I. want. My. People. Back.” Clarke whispers, stressing each word. And its not just that she’s sad or upset, Lexa suddenly understands that Clarke is _furious._ Sitting here, waiting, not being able to do anything to help one of her closest friends except trust that he won’t die and let them all down. Lexa considers Clarke for a moment and even the way she wipes away her tears is angry. She knows talking won’t help. She doesn’t think even another training session where Clarke gets to shoot something multiple times or punch something as hard as she can will. Nothing will ever really help, except defeating the mountain men but there’s something Lexa thinks might work for now anyway.

 

“Come here.” She says and when Clarke gives her a questioning look, she opens her arms in invitation. Clarke hesitates for only a second before she crawls forward, settling into the circle of Lexa’s arms, her head against her chest and her arms around her waist. Her hold on Lexa is crushingly tight, but Lexa doesn’t mind.

“we’ll get them back” she whispers pressing a kiss to Clarke’s forehead.

 

Clarke nods her head against her and Lexa holds her closer, rocking gently until Clarke’s hold isn’t in fists against her back and her breathing evens out.

 

 "Better?” she asks eventually and Clarke nods but doesn’t detach. She’s half asleep, head resting against Lexa’s chest. 

 

Lexa considers her for a second; the face pressed against her shirt with drooping eyes will soon be fully closed and she feels another powerful surge of affection for Clarke.

 

Looking around, the bits and pieces of paper catch her eye and slowly an idea forms.

 

Clarke is clearly exhausted and so Lexa tries her best not to disturb her as she gathers some of the empty pieces of paper around her, thinking for a second before she starts to draw.

 

She has an idea.

 

***

 

When Clarke wakes up at first, she assumes she’s back at the grounders camp in Lexa’s bed because of the feel of fur under her cheek.

 

It takes her a moment to realize that her bed seems to be _breathing_. It comes to her in slow degrees then, her anger and falling asleep in Lexa’s arms. A blush fills Clarke’s entire face and when she risks a glance upwards, sure enough, there’s the defined edge of Lexa’s jaw. Clarke hadn’t meant to unburden herself on Lexa or to curl up in her arms; she hadn’t meant to be so vulnerable but amazingly, nothing Lexa had said or done made her feel weak. If anything, she feels much better stronger leaning against Lexa’s strength. She’s embarrassed but…pleased.

 

From the looks of it, Lexa’s drawing something and so Clarke waits until she’s done before drawing attention to herself. It doesn’t take long; Lexa is done in just about a minute.

 

When she does reveal she’s awake, Lexa greets her with a quiet smile. “hey sleepyhead.” She murmurs and Clarke smiles, blushing lightly again. “Hey yourself”

 

She disengages, in favour of sitting up and almost immediately misses Lexa’s warmth and the sound of her heartbeat against her cheek.

 

Looking at the reddish light coming in through the window, Clarke can tell that she’s slept for a couple of hours at least and now it’s almost sunset and just about time for Lexa to be getting back.

 

She feels guilty about wasting their day together sleeping but Lexa waives all her apologies away and presses a small pile of papers that she’s threaded to form a makeshift book into her hands. “A going away present. May we meet again.”

 

She presses a quick kiss to Clarke’s cheek and then sweeps out before Clarke has fully fnished blinkning the drowsiness from her eyes. Clarke shakes her head fondly at the commander’s disappearing back. She never did like goodbye’s.

 

She flips the book open, curious. She realises with surprise and a rush of pleasure that it’s a picture book, designed so that as you flipped the pages it would almost appear as if the scenes were playing out like a cartoon. She had no idea that Lexa knew how to make these. There’s a lot about the commander that she doesn’t know.

 

Lexa used stick figures to capture the scenes. And there’s Clarke entering the commander’s tent for the first time and a comically frowning stick version of lexa glaring down at her. Clarke Laughs.

 

There’s the clash with the Pauna, the scene of them by the river, and Lexa slipping a flower into her hair. Clarke stills at the next pictures: of them at the camp and Bellamy radioing, of a stick figure version of Lexa chanting just drein, jus down with a roomful of her commander’s and Clarke, there’s a scene of them charging the mountain and then one by one, Clarke’s people coming out to surround her. Lexa doesn’t know all their names, but the names she’s heard Clarke talk about are there – monty, jasper, Hannah – tears blur Clarke’s vision before she can see the rest.

 

The book feels like a promise Lexa has placed in her hands.

 

_we’ll get them back._

 

She hadn’t dreamt that.

 

Then Clarke realises that right at this moment, Lexa’s leaving and she hadn’t even said goodbye properly.

 

Immediately, Clarke breaks into a run, out the door and down the corridor looking for Lexa. She doesn’t see her until she reaches the main entrance to the ark. What started out as pouring rain had ended in a light drizzle, nothing that would prevent the party from going back to camp. The commander and her generals are just about to mount up.

 

Clarke’s heart is beating a mad tattoo in her chest, adrenaline coursing through her veins.

 

Indra and Nyko swing themselves up but as if she can sense her Lexa turns and locks gazes with Clarke. she notes the book Clarke is still holding and a small smile graces her face. “better?” her eyes ask.

 

And in that moment Clarke doesn’t care about her mother, or Kane or all the sky people that have shown up to get another look at the strange outsiders they’ve allied with. She doesn’t care about Indra and nyko as she rushes forward and throws her arms around Lexa.

 

And it’s a testament to how strong the commander is that Lexa manages to steady them by taking a step back instead of toppling over on the floor.

 

“Thank you.” Clark whispers, burying her face into Lexa’s neck. It meant more to her than she could say.

 

“Anytime Clarke.” Lexa assures her, her arms tightening around Clarke’s waist as she returns the hug.

 

Anytime.


	3. Your Past Your present and Your Future

 

When Bellamy’s long awaited communication comes through and Lexa announces his success with a yell of “ _kom war!” ,_ the air explodes with the sound of celebration, a deafening roar of cheers going up as the grounder army surges to its feet.

 

Lexa turns to her with a smile already forming, her emerald green eyes blazing. With war-paint spread across the windows to her soul like a mask of death, she looks wild with her elation, wild and untamed and beautiful and in this moment, it’s not just the fact that she’s overjoyed that’s stealing Clarke’s breath away.

 

Lexa stays only to give a few quick orders and when she turns to leave, she reaches for Clarke’s hand without a thought, links their fingers together. A warm rush of pleasure floods Clarke, bursting forth from her heart and slowly spreading throughout the rest of her body. When Lexa glances back and catches her smile, and then the reason for it, she rolls her eyes slightly, affectionately but doesn’t let go and Clarke can’t help the laugher that spills from her lips.

 

And this, right here? Lexa’s easy confidence, Bellamy’s success, their fingers warmly intertwined;

 

this already feels like victory.

 

***

They end up back in Lexa’s tent to pack up the maps and the scarce belongings that Lexa brought along.

 

Clarke watches her and thinks of the weight of a hundred people across a person's shoulders and then, thousands upon thousands and finds herself blurting out

 

“How do you do it?”

 

//

 

You consider the baffled wonderment on Clarke’s face and you already know what she’s talking about.

 

How do you do it?

 

By surviving.

By fighting. By struggling.

By testing the ground before you put one foot in front of the other.

By being three steps ahead all the time.

By watching your back.

By trusting no one except those that deserve to be trusted.

By listening to your head and not your heart.

 

You think of all these things and a thousand more and you think about saying them to Clarke except you know that they won’t really help her at all.

 

You didn’t learn these lessons easily and not all at once, but painfully, one mistake at a time. If the scars on your heart could be counted, they would outnumber the kill marks on your back and you don’t want that for Clarke – to learn the way you learnt, one excruciating lesson after the other.  Get knocked down, get back up; fight or die.

 

Kill or be killed.

 

You want Clarke’s way to be a better way.

 

Your head lifts slightly – an old reflex – as you make your decision and with resolution, you push off of the table and walk to Clarke.

 

Her eyes flicker as you near her and she straightens but does not retreat. There’s a part of you that wants to smile - Clarke’s courage in the face of the unknown – but you keep your face impassive, looking into her eyes. you want to see if she’s ready to hear what you have to say.

 

You come close, maybe closer than you strictly have to, till you are toe to toe and Clarke’s breathing goes uneven at your proximity.

 

Again, you resist the urge to smile.

 

Instead, you search her gaze and there’s a little wariness and a lot of curiosity and a spark of strength that will turn into defiance if she’s pressed. She won’t back down, even if you come even closer and that’s it, that’s what you’re looking for. _That_ is how she’ll face this world and overcome it– head on without ever backing down from it.

 

Finally, you let your smile escape, just the slightest upward tilt of your mouth and Clarke relaxes, releasing a relieved little puff of air. You hadn’t realized she had started holding her breath and your smile turns into a chuckle.

 

“Lexa” she groans, pushing lightly at your shoulder and you dutifully do your best to suppress your quiet laughter as she presses a hand to her heart.

 

You give her a second or two to recover from the slight scare you’d inadvertently given her before you answer her question.

 

“Lift your chin” you tell her and as you expect, Clarke merely looks confused by your command so you gently take her chin and tilt it upwards.

 

“Straighten your spine.” You add, and now some understanding lights up Clarke’s eyes. She straightens immediately, keeping her chin up. Her eyes flicker to yours, asking, “like this?”

 

You feel your smile grow wider and warmer and move to help her. The sky people generally have terrible posture and their idea of straight isn’t really all that straight at all.

 

You don’t miss the change in the air as you draw nearer, shifting to Clarke’s side to place a hand on the small of her back – the way it grows thick and heavy. Your eyes catch Clarke’s for a second and when they darken, her gaze flickering to your lips, you know that she’s feels it too.

 

You remember a night a few days back, Clarke, languid in your bed, soft against your skin as you lose yourself in the moist press of her mouth against yours; in heated, heady kisses. Clarke swallows and you know she remembers too.

 

Quite suddenly you want nothing more than to close the distance between you and capture Clarke’s mouth with yours.

 

But not right now. Not just before you go off to fight a war.

 

Instead, you let the crackling tension flow over you and through you and place one hand gently against Clarke’s stomach, urging her back straighter together with the hand on her spine.

 

Clarke follows the guiding press of your hands and when she gets to the appropriate stance and holds, your smile reappears, soft with approval.

 

“Good” you praise in a murmur and your smile widens when Clarke’s skin flushes with pleasure.

 

You place your hand on her chest, right over her heart and press down firmly, as if you can infuse strength with your touch. Her skin is hot under your palm. You can feel her racing heart.

 

“ _Ste yuj_ , Clarke.” you whisper intently, trying to convey with your eyes how important it is that she understands that this is a choice, _her_ choice. There is no formula to carrying the weight of her people, no secret. Just her. Her strength, her determination, her wisdom, her kindness. That is how she makes it through, with as much help from you as you can offer.

 

Her eyes widen at the phrase and you know she recognizes it and remembers; it was the same phrase whispered to you by Gustus, right before you drove a sword through his heart.

 

You jerk your hand from Clarke’s chest as though it burns you. And the memory does.

 

Burn…

 

You start to turn away when Clarke’s voice stops you.

 

“But don’t you ever get tired? Of everything? Of being the pillar your entire people rest on? Ever?” Clarke whispers, her voice ragged. She’s looking at you and her gaze is a plea for an answer, for the truth because she does get tired you know and she wants to know that she’s not alone, or weak. That it is normal to have your back bent, your bones ache and you heart sore from the weight of carrying a hundred…or a thousand…or twelve coalitions worth of people and you give her a smile that is a little amused, a lot sad and far wearier and older than your nineteen years.

 

“Exhausted actually” you confide truthfully in a quiet whisper. “Every day is…exhausting. But…for my people, I will do anything and in the end it is worth it, right?”

It comes out as more of a question than you mean it to, the same question you have been asking yourself since you first became Commander of the Blood and now you are the one waiting for an answer.

 

Clarke's blinks. understanding, respect and compassion fill Clarke’s eyes and soften her gaze. At the same time her forehead crinkles into a frown and she eventually looks  down and away from you not answering. but you can hear it clearly in the silence, her answer. You wait to hear it anyway.

 

"I don't know." Clarke finally whispers. "Most days, I think so but there are some where I...just don't know."

You nod, understanding. And then it is your turn to turn away, to fidget with the map pieces on the table. There are some days, when you do not know either.

 

As the silence stretches your mind drifts and for a few seconds you are no longer in this tent…

_***_

_You are Lexa, not Heda and young. Fourteen summers and frolicking with a girl with sunlight in her hair and sapphires for eyes. You’re tickling her and she’s laughing so hard you both end up on the ground in a sea of lilies, side by side._

_A lone dandelion seed floats by, dancing lazily on air._

_Costia catches it gently in her fingers, brings it down between both of your heads._

_“Make a wish” she whispers, smile wide and eyes sparkling bright._

_You only have to consider for a moment before you close your eyes and silently comply._

_Taking the fluffy umbrella gently into your hands, you blow it up into the sky and watch it drift back up, up, far into the heavens; a prayer and a present to the gods._

_You’re filled then, slowly, with a joy and peace that’s heady and pleasant and makes you feel heavy and weightless at the same time; like you’re full, so full of it and yet could float up, up into the sky at any moment. Like you could touch the sun. Like you could kiss the stars._

_You turn back to her with a bright smile and she returns it, light and happy and carefree._

_Free._

_“what did you wish for?”_

_You grin, letting your fingers trail through the golden strands of her hair, warm in the afternoon heat._

_“It’s a secret” you breathe._

_***_

_It’s three years later and you storm through the hallways of Polis, wrapping your fury around you like a second cloak._

_The eyes of the guards lined along the corridors widen at your appearance – at the blood smeared across your face, drenching your Commander’s uniform, leaving streaks across the floor where it trails along the ground. None of it is yours._

_You wish at least some of it was._

_You burst into the throne room, startling Titus and the guards stationed near the door, together with a few ladies who are supposed to wait on you._

_“Out!”, you bark and the girls immediately scurry off._

_The guards hesitate, noting the blood on you with worried eyes but at your glare, they slip outside, stationing themselves just behind the door. “No one comes in!” you yell after them._

_Titus approaches you with wide eyes, clearly about to ask what happened but one look from you has him shutting his mouth with an audible click._

_“I’ll be outside” he murmurs instead. He leaves slowly, clearly burning with curiosity and hoping you will call him back. You don’t and you ignore the flicker of disappointment on his face as he slips out the door._

_When you’re finally alone you slide your sword from its sheathe. The slick rasp of the metal, still wet with blood has bile burning at the back of your throat. With a small cry you hurl it as far away from you as you can and watch it clatter noisily to the ground and slide out onto the balcony._

_You’re pacing like a panther in a cage when the doors to the throne room burst open and you whirl towards the sound with fire in your eyes, ready to lash out at both the intruder and the guards. When you see it’s her, see the shock and worry in her eyes, your anger dies in your throat, turns into a heavy lump that you struggle to swallow down._

_One of the guards follows, looking harried. “apologies please Heda, she wouldn’t take no for an answer – ”_

_You wave him off and he stops mid- sentence looking anxious. you can't help but feel a little bad for how you addressed him earlier._

_“Just, just wait outside” you say, your voice a whisper. “Please” you add, and it’s the closest thing to an apology you can offer._

_He gives a swift, firm nod, a small smile forming before he steps out and closes the door behind him._

_And then it’s just you and Costia._

_You’re still pacing as Costia approaches you and you regard her with wariness as she takes in your appearance, the alarm in her eyes growing._

_She tries to touch you and you catch her hand, your grip on her wrist tighter than you mean it be but right now you’re as brittle as glass and as volatile as a live-wire and Costia’s touch might just be what breaks you; what turns the spark of your emotions into flames._

_Surprise fades to somber steadiness on her face. You’re waiting for the disgust, for the fear, for the recoil but it never comes and the calm around her, the silent understanding in her lovely blue eyes has you loosening your fingers with a sigh._

_“I’m bloody” you warn and what you’re really trying to tell her is that you’re tainted with all this war; impure. your voice comes out raspy and sore._

_“I don’t care.” She whispers and you know she doesn’t, that what she is trying to tell you is that you’re in this together. she comes close enough that the deep blue pools of her eyes are all you can see. Close enough that her breath washes warm over your face, sends chills down your spine. Close enough that the length of her body presses against yours, firm, warm._

**_Alive_ ** _._

_You swallow hard and your throat is a raw mess; suddenly everything about you is raw and aching and hurting. Costia’s touch is painfully tender as she cups your face and rests her forehead against yours – pure, creamy skin resting against crimson._

_You take a deep shaky breath and let her scent – fresh air, and wide open spaces, clean linen, mountain ranges and something dark and rich and sweet - invade your senses, wash over you in cool soothing waves as you breathe. It turns your muscles to liquid, bones into pliant wax and you lean into her without even thinking._

_Her thumbs stroke your cheeks, carefully trace down your cheekbones – light and soothing. When she reaches forward to wrap you in a hug, warm and full, you don’t fight it, just bury your face in the crook of her neck and let yourself be held._

_You don’t realize you are trembling until her hands ghost down your arms, rub gentle circles into your back, until she begins murmuring in trigadeslang, a flowing stream of words that are so quiet and fluent they’re nearly unintelligible but are still comforting because it’s her voice speaking them, her words, washing calmly over you. She holds you tighter. You don’t realize you were trembling until you stop._

_When she presses a soft kiss to your cheek, you feel the anguish you were holding back in favour of rage slip from your eyes in burning tears. You swallow past the lump in your throat._

_“Ice nation?” she murmurs. A question._

_You nod._

_“Another village?” she whispers and your arms tighten around her till you’re sure it must hurt but Costia’s only response is to hold you closer too. You try to nuzzle even further into her neck, as if you can paint her on you, sink into the smell of soap and fresh linen and clean air and dark earth and sunlight that clings to her, become one with her and leave all the blood and death and pain behind._

_“Lexa” she urges you softly._

_“Yes” you reply._

_You don’t let go._

_“Everyone?” she asks, her voice suddenly rough._

_“Everyone.” You confirm, the sound barely more than vibrations against her skin._

_Her breath catches like the news has knocked the air out of her lungs and more tears slide down your face even as you squeeze your eyes shut around them, a fresh wave of anguish rising. You should have protected them._

_Women._

_Children._

_Fathers, mothers, sisters, brother’s grandparents,_

_healers, tailors, teachers, everyone._

_People. Your people._

_You should have been there sooner._

_You wish more of the blood was yours; that your suffering could be measured in more than just tears._

_You don’t realize you are crying until she’s making soft shushing sounds into your ear and trailing comforting fingers through your hair._

_You can’t stand to be comforted right now, so you break away, putting a foot of space between you._

_And you know she understands, know Costia always understands, has always understood you._

_There’s blood across the front of her dress now too. It’s simple, but beautiful; a buttermilk coloured creation that brushes against her ankles with a daring slit that stops just short of the top of her thigh with dark, tight leggings underneath._

_It reminds you of a field of lilies and two laughing young girls and a wish that came true. It’s one of your favorite dresses on her. You hate that it too is ruined by this life you live._

_Tears fill her eyes for the people in that village, for **you** but they don’t fall. Her face is even, spine straight, head held high as she watches you, shares your pain with you, endures with you._

_Costia is steady, steady, steady as a rock, as a mountain -always -and you’ve never been more grateful as you take in a deep ragged breath and try to be steady too. Your face is a mess you know: tears and blood and sweat mixed with dirt but you don’t bother to wipe any of it away._

_“There has to be a better way” you whisper and your voice is rough with your pain. With all of their pain. Retaliation won’t bring back any of the people you lost today; it will just help you lose a few more. Someone’s father. Someone’s brother. Someone’s wife. Someone’s son._

_It’s too-_

 

_Much._

 

_Blood._

_She shakes her head, stepping back into your space to cup your face in her palms. You hold onto her wrists again except this time your fingers curl gently around. Press her hands to your skin, your eyes drifting closed as her heat sinks into you. There has to be a better way._

 

_“There isn’t you know that.” She breathes and your hand tightens on her wrist as a despair surges up in you. Your eyes are still closed as your face involuntarily crumples and the press of Costia’s lips to your eyes are cool and soothing in contrast to the riotous tumult in your soul. Her hands are strong, forcing you to lift your head and look her in the eyes._

 

_Tears are escaping down her cheeks too but her eyes are fiercer than anything you’ve ever seen when she whispers. “so **make** one.”_

 

_And the determination and urgency in her voice pierces you just as much as those fiery blue eyes. The press of her hands against the sides of your head keep you grounded, centered as she places even softer kisses against your wet lashes and leans back to meet your gaze once more._

****

**_So make one._ **

****

**_***_ **

_So you do._

_It takes you a whole year to build trust, respect and good faith among the clans and even with that, their reaction is typically what you expect: all hot-headed anger, outrage and fury at the idea of being banded together, joining with clans they’ve waged war against for decades and you explain, a thousand times, why coming together is the only way any of you survive._

_Forgiveness, letting go of old grudges and hurts, achieving peace and choosing to call a truce – you know it’s not easy. You’re all too aware of the hatred that burns between your people and that of the ice nation but you’re following your own advice. If you can put up with Nia even though you feel like rending her head from her shoulders anytime you’re in the same room as her, they can suck it up with their various arch enemies as well._

_You put it in far more eloquent and diplomatic terms than that but your throne room still ends up in a thunderous uproar by the time you are done._

_You close your eyes against the noise, furious faces and gestures, trying to reach for composure. And for one abrupt second, you are tired. You are so, so desperately, achingly tired…_

_And then the moment passes and once more you are furious._

_The protests swell to a crescendo, and you try, you really try keep calm but rage sends your hand slamming against the arm rest of your throne, the sound like a gunshot in the closed room and several of the ambassador’s jump._

_A sudden hush falls as you rise to your feet, every eye in the room on you._

_“That. Is. Enough” you grit out and your voice is little more than a whisper but in the silence of the throne room it carries, authoritative and penetrating._

_“aren’t you all tired? Your nations, your people, your children always dead or dying. The forest grounds are soaked with blood, our rivers run red with it. The sound of mourning is more familiar to us than laughter or cheer is it not **enough**?” you look around, piercing green eyes settling on each of the rulers and they each shift uncomfortably under your gaze, suddenly appearing almost shrunken in their seats. Nia is the exception, her chin tilting defiantly upward and cold eyes flashing._

_You give them a moment to exchange looks, a moment to see sense, a moment to let your anger fade with a deep breath before you look, really look at their faces. At the uncertainty, at the fear, at the distrust and offer the only thing you can right now, as your mouth tilts ever so slightly upwards and you extend an invitation of hope and peace._

_“maybe it is time for a new way. A better way. Maybe, life should be about more than just surviving.”_

 

_You say, as gently as you can._

_(And those words, they pierce your chest, slide clean into your heart and stay, buried, long after this meeting ends and you meet a girl that reminds you of all the vast, magnificence of space: The sun in her hair, stars in her smile and all the vast oceans that are her eyes in-between; in a tent, warm with the heat of the midday sun - in a kiss so gentle you ache with the tenderness of it - you remember them, and are thankful)_

_“all hail Alexandria, Heda of the Trikru, now Commander of the Blood.” The call is spoken slowly, clearly, unexpectedly, from the oldest ruler among you, silver lining the hair and beard of the king of the water nation._

_It is picked up by another voice and then another until the room echoes with the solemnity of the new title they have crowned you._

_Nia’s eyes are so cold on you they burn as one by one, the ambassadors rise and drop to their knees._

_Finally, it is only the ice queen left upright with eyes like a winter storm; you are sure she will never submit but to your surprise, after a long moment, she too slips to her knees._

_The smile she offers you though is nothing less than pure poison as she hisses “all hail Alexandria, Heda of Trikru, Commander of the blood.” From her lips it sounds more like an insult but you choose to ignore her._

_“Rise,” you say, and she meets your eyes as they all stand and you freeze in your seat._

_The look on her face is calculating, measuring, assessing and when at least she seems to find whatever she’s looking for, her face splits in a slow, feral smile._

_It’s the first time in a long time you’ve been truly chilled to your bones by Nia._

_Still, you lift your chin and meet her gaze without flinching, even as a tremor rushes down your spine._

_Later, you think you should have known when all she does is bow her head again and retreat with that smirk._

_You should have known._

_***_

_By the time you get back to your tent, you’re exhausted, but so wound up you can’t even begin to think of sleep._

_All alliances are tricky, Gustus has always told you, but this is unlike anything any of you have ever done. This is the alliance to end all alliances. If you get this right, wars decaying touch need never rest on any of your lives ever again._

_The minute you enter your tent you search for her._

_Costia is fast asleep, curled into the comfort of your bed. The covers are not on her and she’s in one of your favorite nightgowns – a filmy royal blue creation that somehow makes the deep blue of her eyes even bluer and dances dangerously on the edge of being see-through without ever quite falling over to the other side; It never fails to steal your breath away._

_She had clearly been waiting for you to come home._

_A pang of longing resonates through you at the thought and at the peaceful picture she makes when sleeping. You’ve barely been able to spend any time with her for far too many weeks in a row and now everything inside you aches to go to her, wake her up with soft kisses and take her into your arms but for now, there’s work to be done and your reunion will have to wait at least one more night._

_So instead of veering left, you veer right and move to the table beside the far wall, light a couple of candles, retrieve a thick stack of parchment and begin to write._

_***_

_Sometime later, it is a couple of unknown hours past midnight and you are beyond exhausted. Your eyes are burning subtly from being open for too long and a dull headache is drumming out the rhythm of our frustration in painful pulses inside your head._

_You’ve reached a dead end in the formation of laws for the coalition and for the life of you, you can’t think of anything more to write even though what you’ve come up with still feels woefully incomplete._

_You’re frustrated and tired, not willing to concede defeat and so preoccupied that you don’t know she’s woken up until she presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck._

_The shiver you give is nothing less than pure pleasure._

_Costia wraps her arms around you from behind, leaning into the curve of your neck and you lean back, against her warmth, humming in contentment. The sound earns you a dazzling smile and you give her a drowsy one. Her hair is loose, falling in soft waves down her back and like a golden curtain around you. You twirl some of the silky strands around your finger and watch her mouth twitch knowingly; you always love it when her hair is down._

_“did I wake you?” you whisper, suddenly concerned as the thought occurs to you._

_She shakes her head and presses a kiss lower down your neck, right where it meets your collarbone and you close your eyes, savoring the touch._

_“I couldn’t sleep well anyway; not without you…and all your snoring.”_

 

_You lift a brow, mouth quirking with amusement “I do not snore.” You declare firmly. She merely gives you a knowing look as she raises both eyebrows with a slight smile._

_“Alright, only when I’m really tired,” you huff and Costia’s quiet laughter against the side of your neck makes you forget, for a second, that you are anything other than young and happy and very much in love._

_And then the bundle of paper on your table once again catches your attention and you sigh as you try to turn your focus back to the task at hand. Costia’s presence and Costia’s warmth and her heartbeat against your back make it hard._

_“the laws for the coalition.” Costia observes after a little while of watching you flip listlessly through the pages._

_You sigh again for an answer and Costia smiles as she pulls the second chair closer to your desk and slips inside._

_No one thinks about books or libraries when they first meet Costia. They think about mountain ranges and open fields and stubborn wildflowers pushing through hard dirt; they think about mischievous smiles and dancing and wine and knives flashing wickedly in the sun. But she loves reading almost as much if not more than you do and underneath all the cheer and merry making and effortless sensuality is a mind that’s as sharp as one of your brand new blades._

_“These are actually very good” she says after a moment, her voice and gaze soft with awe as her gaze flickers between you and what you have created, “Very, very good.”_

_You smile with pleasure and she’s silent again as she considers the laws. It settles on both of you in that moment, the sheer magnitude of what you are trying to do – a whole world of people on your shoulders simply because you would rather have more of them alive than dead._

_You’ve barely even started but you can feel it, the weight._

_Costia looks at you and when you shift in your seat, under the phantom pressure. she places a hand over yours on the arm of the chair. Squeezes gently._

_Your fingers are stained with ink from writing and you can’t help but think it looks like blood in the candlelight. Your blood. Nightblood._

_Your lifeblood into this coalition._

_“Together?” she whispers and it is an offer and a question and a promise all at once._

_You blow out a breath and settle back in your seat, accepting the weight._

_Silently, willingly, you offer her the quill and Costia’s mouth tips up slightly._

_“Together.” You whisper and it is an acceptance and an answer and a promise all at once._

_Without another word she takes it from you and begins to write._

_***_

_By the time you’re done, well and truly done with the laws concerning the leadership of the coalition and have at least sketched an outline of the obligations of the other clans and parties as well, you can barely keep your eyes open and it is Costia who slips her hand in yours and leads you to your bed, your eyes half-closed._

_Costia who unbuckles your commander’s uniform and frees you from the heavy weight that comes with it._

_Costia who pushes you gently back onto the furs and pulls your covers over you._

_Costia who blows out the candles that haven’t already burnt themselves out and slides into bed with you._

_Costia who wraps her arms around you,_

_Costia who places kisses on your shoulder and along your neck, against your jaw and your cheek and your eyes and your forehead._

_Costia’s name you sigh and the white of her smile in the dark._

_Costia who holds you close until you fall asleep, lulled by the rhythm of her heartbeat._

_Costia who comes to join you even in your dreams._

_***_

_Everything goes much more smoothly than you expected._

_The leaders all accept your laws – even Nia – with minimal fuss. Their people are made aware and preparations for the final ceremony to truly make you commander of the blood are underway._

_Titus is going all out; he’s even gotten you a new throne: a beautiful wooden piece with the branches that form the back twisting up and away from the seat as if the chair itself is frozen in its reach for greater glory._

 

_For the sky._

 

_For the sun, and moon and stars._

 

_you think its hauntingly beautiful._

 

_Costia is almost completely certain they’re thorns instead of branches and a completely bad omen._

 

_You pull her away from the throne room with a roll of your eyes and a playful smirk and for the next couple of hours you make sure she can’t think of much of anything at all._

_***_

_Three days later and the last thing you want to do is jinx it._

_Also, you’re far too comfortable, far too sleepy, far too content to contemplate going outside to attend yet another one of Titus’s tedious meeting’s. It’s nothing serious, you’re sure, just your nervous adviser's desire to make assurance double sure by going over details that have already been carved into your brain from his endless repetition. The council members will be there but you figure that just this once, they can do without you. You’ve earned a break._

_So when Costia leans over you to gently shake you awake, you keep your eyes closed and keep your breathing as even as you can._

_“Lexaaa, come on. move. I know you’re not asleep. Your mouth is doing that twitching thing it does whenever you’re trying not to smile.”_

_It’s true, it is and you try to smother your grin to no avail._

_She stops shaking you and laughs instead, her hands disappearing off your back._

_You crack an eye open to regard her and when you see her standing, with her arms crossed over her chest, eyes sparkling as she stares down at you, completely unfooled, your grin stretches from ear to ear._

_Of course it doesn’t hurt that Costia is gloriously, delectably bare._

_You shift onto your side and prop you head on your hand so you can get a better look, drinking in every long, lean and lovely inch of her._

_You’re barely halfway through another grin when she sends one of the pillows sailing towards your head. You duck to avoid it and then roll onto your back laughing as she glares down at you though the pink dusting her cheeks and the smile creeping across her face robs the look of any heat._

_“You won’t get up to meet your much trusted advisor for an important – ”_

_“useless-”_

_“important, meeting but you find the energy to ogle me.”_

_You sigh dramatically and pout at her. “but you’re so much prettier than Titus.”_

_You grin when she laughs, her eyes sparkling with amusement. And yes she is._

_Beautiful._

_“besides.” You murmur, as warm electric blue eyes find yours again. “I’ve missed you.”_

_Her smile softens, radiates warmth as she steps closer to the bed, her legs right against the edge, bending slightly, like they’re toying with the idea of lowering her onto the bed so she can join you._

_“We’ve been in here for two days straight. Two whole days of laughing and talking and kissing and touching and taking very long_ very _soapy baths and you still miss me?”. She raises her eyebrows, her voice playful and amused – unintentionally seductive but there’s genuine curiosity in the soft blue of her eyes as she tilts her head to look down at you._

_“always” you say softly, letting your complete sincerity shine through before you let a playful grin make its way onto your lips. “let me show you just how much.”_

_Her answering smile dazzles you for a second before she takes a step back and fixes you with a knowing look. “First, you’re going for the meeting.”_

_A wave of affection and heat rolls over you, pools low in your stomach and throbs lower down._

_You love it when she gets all bossy._

_“am I?” you ask, sitting up, and you don’t entirely mean it to sound like a challenge but that’s how it comes out._

_She raises an eyebrow at you, hands straying to her hips. “yes.” She says firmly and you let out a huff of laughter, shifting closer to the edge and offering your hand._

_She takes it and pulls, thinking she’s helping you up. But instead you tug and Costia yelps in surprise as you pull her off balance and across your lap. She barely has time to register she’s straddling you before you surge upwards and use her momentum to flip her over, onto the bed. By the time she realizes what’s happened she’s pinned quite snugly underneath you._

_You give her a smug little smirk and waggle your eyebrows before letting your lips roam._

_Her laughter in your ear is breathy and amused as you trail slow, unhurried kisses up her neck and to her jaw._

_“unbelievable” she mutters but she closes her eyes and tips her head back all the same so can press a kiss under her jaw and you smile against her skin as you decorate her jawline with kisses._

_“were you always this insatiable or is it just recent events.” She asks dryly._

_“a lot of both I think” you murmur, not even bothering to stop kissing your way down the other side of her jaw and she laughs softly._

_You reach her pulse point and carefully, purposely bite down and Costia’s breath hitches on her laugh, suddenly turns ragged as you pull the sensitive skin into your mouth and suck softly._

_“Leksa” she sighs and it is chastisement and contentment, tenderness and encouragement all at once. You love the husky, roughness of her voice, love the way her accent becomes more pronounced when she’s aroused; love what her mouth and voice do to your name, how it stretches and sharpens and melts on her tongue – Lexa into Leksa._

_You bite down gently. Costia moans softly. You smile._

_“Titus is going to lose whatever little hair he has” she breathes and you laugh into her neck._

_“Titus,” you say, stressing the name, your voice husky, “is my subject.”_

 

_You slip the sensitive skin at the base of her neck back into your mouth, increasing the pressure, sucking a little harder because you intend to leave a mark and Costia’s quiet gasp turns into a low groan that makes every part of your body tingle._

_“Indra- and Anya and Gustus…the council members –“she croaks._

 

_You let your teeth scrape right over her pulse point, reveling in the way her fingers dig into the skin at your hip, her subtle arch against you._

_“Indra, Anya, Gustus and the council members…” You punctuate each name with a kiss, your mouth travelling from her collarbone, down her chest. “Are all my subjects.” You press warm kisses to each of the pink, drawn buds on her chest, taking each one into your mouth and suckling softly. Costia loses her breath on a sigh that sounds a lot like your name. Her fingers dig deeper into your skin but you only linger a moment before letting your mouth continue its journey. Your destination is a little further down._

_Past her stomach, your tongue dipping into her belly button; Costia’s shaky intake of breath and your smile._

_Lower down, to the line of her hips and when you hear no more protests, just Costia’s quiet, panting breaths you glance up._

_She’s watching you with eyes that are so dark they’re almost black. It washes over you then, the full force of her arousal, coils low in your stomach and throbs between your thighs._

_You can’t help your smirk, can’t help teasing her a little as your mouth moves to the side, to her hip. You nip gently at the skin there and Costia bites her lip. You grip her knees, parting her legs gently so you can slide in, trace your tongue along your name tattooed on the inside of her thigh and Costia’s body shudders, a whimper slipping from her lips as she arches against you._

_You pull back just slightly so that her hips are riding nothing but warm air and Costia's head rolls slightly against the bed as she presses the back of a trembling hand against her eyes. "maybe i should have added this to the laws of the coalition." she murmurs, her voice husky and coated in amusement._

 

_"what?" you murmur absently, busying yourself with placing slow, languid, kisses, nips, and licks against the flat plane of Costia's stomach, her thighs and her hip - anywhere except where Costia wants you most._

 

_"A law against the Commander being such a shameless tease"  She mutters dryly._

 

_You lift your head up to look at her and give her a wicked grin. And because you are a shameless tease, you lean down to press a gentle kiss against tight blonde curls and another tremor ripples through Costia._

 

_"Does that mean you want me to stop?" your voice somehow manages to combine utter mischief and utter innocence. you rest your chin against her thigh and when she props herself up to look down at you, it is with an expression of utter disbelief on her face. You choke down your laughter and flutter your lashes at her instead before grinning. she takes a moment to absorb the sparkle in your eyes before she falls back on the bed with a groan that turns into a soft chuckle even as her hands tangle in her hair and grips._

 

_You wait, your mouth watering and Costia's skin burning under your chin._

 

_"No" Costia rasps and you grin and shift lower, hovering right where Costia wants you most._

 

_"Do you want me to continue" you whisper. And the heat of your breath against her sensitive skin must do something to Costia because the fingers in her hair tighten and she bites her lip, arching slightly, involuntarily upwards._

_They both know the answer to that question and Costia is stubborn and strong and wild and proud and this isn't about domination because if it were, she would have already flipped Lexa. This is about missing Lexa just as much as she has missed her and seeing the way her eyes light up when she grins and teases; the way happiness, true happiness is radiating off of Lexa in a way it hasn't since they were kids. so even though she's tempted not to give in, to gain the upper hand and level the playing field, instead she surrenders. Let's herself relax into the furs, closing her eyes with a shaky sigh._

 

_“Shah Leksa” she breathes and this time when her hips tip up toward your mouth it is gentle, searching._

_An answer._

 

_An invitation._

_A request._

_A plea._

_You gladly oblige her._

_***_

_Later, much later, when the sun is sinking low on the horizon, you lie wrapped around her, your head resting on Costia’s back and one of your arms around her waist._

_You’re both drowsy, sweat just beginning to cool on your bodies and maybe you should have gone to see Titus at some point and find out how the meeting went but you have a pretty good idea._

_Besides, you don’t think you could move even if you wanted to._

_You’re too happy, to satiated, too content, too everything._

_You lift your head and press a warm kiss to the cool skin of her shoulder and a sleepy smile spreads slowly across her lips like a new sunrise as she draws your arm tighter around her._

_You drift, hovering pleasantly just beneath the surface of sleep, your hands lazily drawing abstract patterns against her back, now warm, when she whispers._

_“do you remember that wish we made when we were children?”_

_You nod against her skin and she shifts. You give her the space to turn over on her back. Her palm finds your face and cups your cheek, her thumb caressing. You press a kiss to her palm and she gives you this achingly soft smile that has your heart just melting in your chest._

_“what did you wish for?”_

_“you already know what I wished for” you tell her, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on her forehead before settling with your head on her heart with a small contented sigh._

_“you.”_

_***_

_It’s now been three whole days and as much as you enjoy having Costia all to yourself, the responsibilities of the real world are unmistakably catching up with you._

_The last of the materials for the ceremony are needed and Costia has offered to gather them from the surrounding forest. She’s a scout after all and she was going to be patrolling all over the forest anyway._

_To say you don’t want her to go is an understatement. There’s something prickling in your gut, something that tells you that this kind of happiness just doesn’t last and you’re terrified that her stepping outside the tent will just prove you right by breaking the perfect harmony of the past few days and allowing the reality of life on the ground to flood back in._

_Costia’s the superstitious one, the one who finds signs and meaning in everything around you so you don’t know how to put it into words the way you feel but you know if you asked, she would stay anyway. But then Titus would turn his irritation against her and between the two of you, Costia’s the mostly innocent one because you_  did  _seduce her first so instead, you pull on your commander’s uniform and your boots and try to hang onto her a little longer, snagging her around the waist on her way out._

_She’s exchanged her preference for dresses for black pants that look like they’ve been painted on and a lovely, long sleeved golden top that hugs her bodice and ribs and flares out towards her waist._

_It reminds you of a field of lilies and two laughing young girls and a wish that came true and when she grins and leans into your embrace, you can’t help indulging a bit, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, resting your forehead gently against hers._

_“Be safe okay.” And you don’t know whether it’s a command or a prayer or a plea but it’s something and as she nuzzles her nose against yours you can feel the sentiment returned even before she blows out “you too” on a quiet breath. You nod but she pulls back to look at you, eyes somber._

_“I’m serious Lexa. Nia is going to try to do anything she can to break the coalition or own the coalition. Don’t let her. You’ve got to be **smart** she emphasized the word with a gentle finger to your head. _

_“Don’t let your feelings carry you away; before you do anything, consider the consequences and always be-“_

_“- two steps ahead.” You finish wryly. “you know that used to be my saying before you stole it.”_

_She flashes a grin at you, quick and wide and you gently tweak her nose and then assure her that you will._

_The words have branded themselves in your mind and heart after all._

_One goodbye kiss turns into another… which turns into another… which turns into another until Indra’s pointed cough from the doorway breaks the two of you apart with sheepish smiles._

_There’s a guard party you’ve arranged to go with her, six of your finest soldiers and Costia herself, underneath her cheer and calm and smile is the deadliest thing you’ve ever seen apart from Titus._

_With how smoothly things are going with the coalition, you have less reason to worry than ever before but… still…there’s this gnawing feeling you can’t quite shake._

_You push it aside, into the shadowed edges of your awareness as she gives you one more kiss, the softest press of her lips, air and butterflies wings._

_“tonight?” she murmurs and you grin and lean in close so your lips are at her ear._

_“now who’s insatiable?” you whisper and she returns your grin, her cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink before she shrugs and winks, shameless, eyes twinkling._

_“what can I say, you’re a bad influence on me_ ai niron _.”_

_You laugh out loud and pull her into a tight hug, covering her cheek with kisses, squeezing tightly before you let go._

_“I’ll be waiting.” You say as she steps through the flap and she gives you a grin, eyes shining. The sapphire blue of her eyes turns light in the sun, the colour of clear, wide open skies as she winks at you._

_“I’ll be back before you know it.”_

_***_

_She doesn’t come back_

_Not that day, or the next or the next and neither do her guards and you are wild with worry._

_You postpone the ceremony to unite the clans, take Indra, Anya, Gustus and half your standing army to scour your land for her._

_You find nothing. Not a single thing except the bodies off the guards that you sent her with._

_And its terror you feel as you stare down at the bodies and note the precision with which they were killed._

_Raw. Cold. Stark.  Terror like you’ve never felt before._

_Indra draws up beside you on her horse and hurriedly dismounts, casting a quick glance at the bodies you see. “Is she -?”_

_“No-” you interrupt immediately, unable to hear her complete the sentence, your voice rough, your heart pounding as you turn away from the scene._

_“she was taken.”_

_***_

_Everything grinds to a standstill and you know that if this was the purpose of Costia’s abduction then you’re playing right into her abductors hands but you can’t quite bring yourself to care._

_It takes Anya and you on the training grounds; a whole lot of sweat, vented rage and Anya’s steady patience; both of you on the ground and your knife at her neck, tears streaking through the dirt on your cheeks and gentle, gentle fingers curling over the hand that holds the blade and steady brown eyes filled with understanding meeting yours._

_a quiet, “what would she want?”_

_before you can bear to use your head._

_***_

_The ceremony goes on as planned and you become Alexandria, Heda kom Skaikru, leader of the coalition and commander of the blood._

_This should have been one of the happiest days of your life; finally, you can bring some method to the madness of the clan’s interactions with each other._

_Finally, you can bring some measure of peace._

_You barely hear or see anything._

_The wine they give you tastes like gall, the blood they smear across your forehead makes you think of Costia and the slit throats of the guards you sent with her._

_You’re dizzy and sick before you’re halfway through but you still kneel to take the vow, to speak he promise of protection over your people, **all** your people and you manage to mean every word. _

_On shaky legs you make your way towards your throne and as you settle into it, you can’t help but think she was right; the back didn’t resemble hopeful branches at all. It was nothing more than a snarl of thorns. A throne of thorns. Only a little better than a crown of thorns._

_“all hail Alexandria, Heda kom Trikru, Commander of the blood” Titus calls out, his eyes filled with awe and wonder and the call is picked up by the dozen in the room and finally…it is done._

_You’re leaving when you know._

_Your gaze lands on Nia’s by pure chance and the uncontrolled fury in her expression is so palpable it slams into you like a wall of pure heat. Your steps falter for just a second before you force yourself to keep walking past. But when you’re at the door, you can’t resist looking back and everything clicks for you so suddenly it takes your breath away._

_You know._

_You **know.**_

****

**_You know_ **

****

_That she has Costia._

_Her mouth twists at the realization in your eyes and you taste bile at the back of your throat. Your heart jerks up, lodging itself somewhere in your windpipe and you’re suddenly sick with the idea that this woman, **this** woman, this woman has Costia._

_Your exhale is sharp and rough, scraping across your throat on its way out. You take two shaky steps towards Nia and you’re not even sure what you’re going to **do** -_

_It’s only Indra’s hand on your elbow that steadies you, grounds you; the room is still full of rulers you’ve just welcomed into your coalition. Rulers you’ve invited to trust you, believe you when you say there can be peace between the clans._

_Its only Sheer force of will pushes you through the door instead of at Nia, your hands around her throat._

_Anya’s hand on your back, rubbing as you bend to try and fail to empty the contents of your empty stomach on the cold stone floor._

_***_

_You have no proof._

_And she could be anywhere, right here in your own lands or far away in the ice nation._

_They hold you back from going to Nia and ripping her head from her shoulders for a whole week…_

_And then it no longer matters._

_***_

_You approach the box on the table in the centre of your throne room with legs that legs that tremble with your every step._

_The room is empty except for Anya, Titus, Indra and Gustus._

_Still._

 

_Quiet._

 

_Lifeless._

_You think you know what you will find but all the same –_

_The first glance you take overwhelms, sends a dizzying rush to your head; your gasp robs you of breath,_

_The ground has fallen away from your feet. The world turns sickeningly upside down and you need two hands on the table to keep your knees from buckling but **somehow** the box is still in front of you._

****

**_Somehow_ ** _you’re still looking at Costia’s remains. The pieces they deigned to send back are arranged so neatly that the order itself is an insult; so much care taken only when it no longer matters. The symbol at the side of the box has you hyperventilating, breaths rushing out in painfully shallow pants. The mark of the ice nation._

_You look at her and you can’t breathe._

_Agony, sheer agony explodes from where your heart used to be._

_You take a gasping breath because your lungs are screaming and the mild smell of decay is like razor blades against your nose, your lungs._

_You look at the blue-black bruises around her eyes, at the swelling on her cheekbones and cuts on her lips and you know that they hurt her before they killed her. They hurt her and you weren’t there._

_They hurt her and you couldn’t do anything._

_You sink to your knees because not even the table can hold you up._

_You are weak, literally weak with grief and you press your forehead against the cool wood of Costia’s makeshift casket. You don’t even try to stop the tears._

_The silence around you is absolute as everyone looks on, somber._

_You don’t know how much time passes before Anya moves to put a hand on your shoulder and squeezes gently._

_And something inside you shatters._

_Rage, pure unadulterated **rage** floods through._

_The world is washed in a pulsing crimson haze as you surge to your feet, casting off Anya’s hand and_

_pulling your sword free._

_You’re going to **destroy** Nia._

_They try to stop you, of course they do: Indra and Gustus against your sword until Indra finally knocks it out of your hand and Anya’s arms come like steel vises around you._

_You struggle, of course you do and all the while Anya is speaking, her words rushed as she tries to get through to you before you break her hold._

_“If you do this she wins. The coalition breaks. The other commander’s will never trust you and at worst, Nia becomes commander of the blood. You will **never** see peace. You will never see your dream.”_

_Hot tears of frustration and rage slide down your cheeks. “I don’t care about my dream.” You grit out, right before you fling your head back and it connects with Anya’s nose. There’s a crunch and blatant cussing in Trigadeslang as Anya stumbles back, dropping you to the floor._

_You don’t get the time to stand before her arms are back, iron bands wrapping around you. Your struggling only intensifies and you hear Anya curse once more, feel the blood from her nose seeping onto the back of your neck and your uniform. Thick and hot, it only makes you struggle more._

_The only person’s blood you want spilled is Nia’s._

_“Dammit, Heda. Heda…Lexa!” she finally yells and you suddenly still, the sound of your name like a bucket of ice-cold water to the face. No one has called you by your name in years. Not since you became Commander of Triku. Not since Costia._

_“This was her dream too.” Anya whispers in your ear. And for the second time that day you break and your anger breaks with you, crimson waves rolling harmlessly against the shore._

_Anya stills with the first sob that spills from your throat._

_With the next, she releases you, slowly and when you turn to her instead of making a break for the door, she pulls you into her lap and cradles you more securely in her arms._

_You bury your face against her chest, muffling the sound of your crying against her furs._

_She rocks you gently, without saying a word and she hasn’t been this tender with you since your parent’s death – (not war, not ice nation, just…sickness, a cough that wouldn’t go away even in summer and fluid filling up two pairs of lungs. Nothing you could do then too. Nothing any of you could do.)_

_There’s a part of you that wishes she **would** speak.  That she says that the pain tearing at you subsides, that everything is going to be alright but you know those would only be lies. _

_The pain will never go away._

_Nothing is ever going to be alright again._

_***_

_You don’t kill Nia._

_You do become leader of the coalition. And as you take your seat for the first time and see the sheer disbelief and fury in Nia’s eyes you know you beat her at her own game…_

_But at what cost?_

_It occurs to you in a moment of reflection – the bitter irony; peace cost you more than war ever did._

_That both of your dreams were built on the bones of all the dead, sealed with Costia’s blood, cemented with your sweat and tears, decorated with the pieces of your heart -_

_You will protect it with your life until the end of your years…_

_You will protect your people._

_Because now, they are the only thing that matters._

_You will not fail them again._

_***_

 

A gentle squeeze on your hand brings you back to the present and you blink once, twice your gaze slowly focusing on Clarke.

 

You don’t know which one of you is more surprised by the tears that have filled your eyes.

 

The need to hide your weakness rears up, quick and sharp enough to make you let out a quiet gasp, only to crumble into nothingness and be washed away by the sheer tenderness in Clarke’s gaze;

 

You sink into the warm waters of twin oceans and don’t even try to pull away when she reaches a hand towards your face.

 

That first tender touch has you closing your eyes. you’ve never felt anything as gentle as Clarke’s thumb under your eyes, against your skin, catching your tears, wiping them away.

 

“Old memory?” she whispers and you give a small nod, eyes still closed as her hands move to the other side of your face and repeat the gesture.

 

When she makes to take her hand away you catch it, place it against your cheek and lean into the warmth of her touch.

 

You let your lips brush the skin of her palm and you don’t need to see Clarke’s smile to know that it is there; it’s in the glide of her fingers as they tuck stray strands of hair behind your ear, the back of her knuckles trailing lightly down your other cheek; it’s in the sudden closing of the distance between you and the curve of her mouth as she presses soft kisses against your forehead, both of your eyes, the tip of your nose – and your mouth curls up the slightest bit because you remember a watery sunlit day spent lying on a rock, side by side, waiting for warmth to dry your drenched clothes and a similar kiss that elicited giggles that made your heart seem a thousand times lighter –

 

You taste it in the gentle press of her lips and when she rests her forehead against yours you lean in with a quiet sigh.

 

Her hand runs lightly through your hair, running pleasantly through the strands, playing with your braids and you push your forehead closer against hers.

 

You stay there - with Clarke’s heart beating against yours, her skin against yours, her breaths steady in your ears, hands gentle on your face - until the throb in your heart is just an ache.

 

Until your memories are just memories.

 

Until your entire body floods with a cool, pleasing sense of well-being.

 

Peace…

 

Peace is what you feel with Clarke.

 

 “Better?” she whispers and you answer with a nod and nuzzle against her, praying that she can understand your thanks even if you don’t have the words to explain all that she makes you feel.

 

She smiles and you know that she understands, that Clarke has always understood you.

 

You let the moment stretch, become rich and full, just like your heart thudding slow and heavy against your ribs.

 

Several long moments pass before you speak, your voice a whisper slipping into the silence.

 

“We’ll get your people out of Mount Weather first. Then we’ll take it one step at a time.”

 

“we?” Clarke asks, and her voice is quiet, edged lightly in amusement...pleased. You can’t tell if it’s because of what you’ve just said or because you haven’t stopped rubbing your cheek against her hand but still you open your eyes.

 

Cautious suddenly of overstepping your bounds you remove your hand from on top of Clarke’s and take a step back.

 

“only if that is what you wish Clarke.”

 

She considers you carefully, and you have to force yourself not to squirm under her gaze. You feel like her clear blue eyes are piercing your skin, your chest, your heart, straight to your soul and you suck in a breath that is shakier than it should be and force yourself to maintain eye contact.

 

“and you, what do you want?” Clarke asks eventually. She takes a step forward, closing the distance between you and you feel your heart rise to your throat.

 

You remember those words; another time, another girl.

_What did you wish for?_

 

What do you want?

 

And suddenly you feel naked and vulnerable and bare under Clarke’s soft gaze because you want what you’ve always wanted since that first day she walked into your tent and looked at you with those blue blue eyes, anxious but brave. bold. Strong.

 

Beautiful.

 

And you should look away. Seal up the gaping holes in your emotional armor, close the jagged spaces between your ribs, pick up your heart and _run_ but god, Clarke has the softest look on her face, like she can see _right_ through you, to all the aching, yearning, defenseless parts of you and she wants what she sees to be true because she’s never seen anything so

 

Beautiful…

 

So you take the plunge, diving headfirst into whatever this _thing_ between you is, knowing that it will most likely break you, knowing that it will most likely hurt and knowing that you are willing to take the pain because you cannot imagine a world in which you never even _tried._ you've known her for less than half a year and you cannot imagine your life without Clarke.

 

“I want you” you whisper. "But you've always known that. I've never stopped wanting you." and your voice is rough and breaks twice in the handful of seconds it takes to bare your heart but it's worth it for the way Clarke looks at you, the way her gaze somehow becomes even softer, suffused with a tenderness and affection and desire that has your heart suddenly pounding against your ribs.

 

"The question is,"  you dare to take the smallest of steps forward, something in you thrilling in the way Clarke swallows, her widening slightly, "what do _you_ want Clarke?"

 

She gets that look on her face again, that careful, thoughtful, weighing look that has a part of you resisting the urge to straighten your spine and tilt your chin up, place your armor back around you heart and forget that you ever took it off for a girl with sapphire blue eyes and golden hair. The rest of you...the rest of you is waiting, your body tense, mouth dry, palms moist. Something flickers in Clarke's expression after what feels like hours when barely a minute has passed but it is gone too quickly for you to catch. When you look at her now, you cannot tell what she is thinking, what her decision is and when Clarke begins to move towards you, you straighten and resist the urge to harden, keeping yourself soft and loose. Vulnerable.

 

You heart is racing so fast you almost can't feel it anymore. At this rate you think it might just fly right out of your chest...

 

You forget how to breathe as Clarke comes closer, as close as she possibly can without actually touching and there’s barely any space between you at all. Then closer still, until her shirt is just barely brushing against yours and you can feel the slight press of her stomach every time she breathes, the touch sparking heat over your skin, incinerating whatever scraps of your armor may have been left.

 

Desire surges up in you so suddenly it leaves you dizzy.

 

Aching.

 

Wanting.

 

you close your eyes against the rush of blood to your fingers, your face, pounding in your ears, pooling lower down, for a second, overwhelmed.

 

You feel Clarke’s fingers curl into the belt at your waist. Tug forward gently and you obey the pull, shifting the final few steps forward until your body collides lightly with hers. The sound you make is quiet, somewhere between a whimper and a groan and you let your eyes drift open, breaths rushing out in soft pants.

 

Clarke’s gaze is dark, intensely focused as she traces the features of your face, your eyes, your nose, the slope of your cheekbones, the curve of your jaw. They land on your mouth, stay, before finally reconnecting with your eyes.

 

By the time she smiles at you, your throat is a desert.

 

Clarke rests her forehead against yours in a touch so gentle it has goose-bumps breaking out over your skin, tingles shooting to your palms.

 

And maybe your breathing is suddenly ragged, embarrassingly loud to your own ears.

 

Maybe you don’t care. Because maybe Clarke’s breathing isn’t so even either.

 

When she winds her arms around you, you let your eyes slip closed, let your breathing even out with a sigh. You think you know her choice now but you're still not ready for the way Clarke whispers, "i want you too.". For the way it is the loveliest thing you have heard in decades. It draws another quiet sigh from you, right from the depths of your soul and when you open your eyes after Clarke pulls back just slightly, she's smiling as her gaze caresses your face, as if Clarke is trying to commit this moment to memory. There's fondness written all over her features and you cannot remember the last time you have seen anything like it. You let your eyes fall closed again because you will not, _not_ cry because of such a simple thing and yet Clarke still kisses both of your eyes with the softest lips. And this time, it is Clarke who leans in to seal her confession with a kiss. And this kiss...

 

This kiss is everything.

 

***

 

In the end they are both wrong.

 

They don’t know it yet; not while they were marching towards the mountain men and Clarke catches Lexa’s eye, giving her a smile that spoke of love and care and hope as delicate as a baby bird’s trembling wings in the promise of new beginnings.

 

Not when they were waiting just outside the thick steel door that marked the entrance to the mountain.

 

_It takes as long as it takes._

 

Lexa’s calm versus Clarke’s sweaty palms.

 

Not when Lexa yanks Lincoln back down, dark eyes flashing. “NO! you **stay** with Clarke and when the shooting stops you get that door _open_.”

 

Clarke doesn’t even realize it when the heavy steel door creaks open and a line of dazed, half- naked grounders come shuffling out.

 

She doesn’t realize it even when Lexa comes back, with the mountain-man in chains and she’s wearing those eyes. Not the soft ones that belong to her but the blank ones she wears when she doesn’t want anyone to see through.

 

The eyes that she so rarely ever wears with you.

 

Clarke feels dread just beginning to pool in the pit of her stomach, her gut already processing what her mind and heart can’t quite bring themselves to. She listens to Lexa’s words without really understanding what she’s saying.

_Lovely and deadly, a rose with poisoned thorns._

 

It’s not until Lexa apologizes that everything clicks horribly in place; that the glisten in her eyes makes sense.

 

Still, when Lincoln asks she says the truth unsteadily because it’s still one she can’t quite  comprehend -

 

“your commander’s made a deal.”

 

//

 

Your downfall has always been Clarke’s blue, oh so blue expressive eyes and when they fill with tears as she finally understands you want to rewind, go back and do things in a way that won’t have her looking at you like you’ve broken her heart but it’s too late.

 

The deal is done.

 

And even if it wasn’t, you know you wouldn’t change your mind.

 

There’s no way to explain to Clarke the decision you came to standing on that mountain ridge with one of your most loathed enemies kneeling before you and your knife held tightly in your hand, ready to slice across his throat. slowly. You wanted him to feel every second of excruciating pain that you could squeeze out for all that he had put your people through and even that wouldn’t have been enough.

But then he starts to speak. And a part of you knows that you shouldn’t listen, but when he presents his offer, your eyes widen.

 

It’s the last thing you expected.

_Those who are about to die will say anything_  

 

Indra’s disdainful words sound in your mind and you step forward to end his lies when he quickly gestures to the radio at his hip.

 

When you hear the head of the mountain men present you the offer himself, you hesitate.

 

You think of Clarke, of her golden hair and sky blue eyes that smile when she smiles, of training and sunsets and purple flowers edged in gold.

 

You think of sparkling streams, and Clarke dozing off at your side her arm close to yours, not quite touching, not quite not, you think of fingers intertwining in the sun, and sketches made from memories of you sleep.

 

you see yourself through Clarke’s eyes; see beauty. you think of dancing, you think of peace and your first answer is such a fierce ‘ _no’_ that it has the mountain man scrambling backwards as you take a first step forward.

 

You’re going to kill him, your hands around his collar, your knife at his neck when he shouts in a rush, “think about your people!”

 

And you pause, stilling. Your furious eyes meet his scared ones. You don’t step back but relief still washes over his face, gives him enough confidence to smile though his gaze on you is still wary.

 

“are you really going to sacrifice them for a handful of sky people, after everything they’ve done. We’re offering not to harm a single one of your people. Not a single drop of blood needs be spilled. You’ve lost hundreds and we’re talking about a few dozen sky people? Haven’t your people suffered enough?”

 

“shut up.” You snap at him and he obeys immediately, his mouth shutting with a click. But the damage is done.

You think about your people.

 

You think about the man in TonDC that moved to block your path, think about the grief in his eyes as he declared, “the sky people have taken everything from me. My _wife_ , My _child_. Murderers are not welcome here.”

 

You think about how you had him beaten for telling the truth.

 

You think about the TonDC massacre and the deaths that were avenged but it’s not the same you know. 1 of theirs for 18 of yours.

 

You think of the 300 dead at Clarke’s hands and there’s no anger towards her, you sent them there to kill her and her people, their deaths are on you but that still 300 of your people gone.

 

You think of Gustus, and Anya and what it means to be Heda.

 

You think of the spirits of your ancestors and your duty.

 

You think about the soldiers you are sending in to the mountain, some of them to their deaths and Clarke was right. It’s never as easy as saying “go die for me.”

 

They have families and friends: mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, _people_ waiting for them to come home. So if you lose even just one man when you could have won the battle and lost none, it’s still a tragedy.

 

You could send them in anyway, to die for Heda anyway because victory is born on the back of sacrifice… but that is only when it has to be. You think of all those you let die at TonDC and you know that this time, sacrifice is not needed, not from your people; that you can avoid spilling more blood.

 

Since the sky people came its almost seven hundred of your people lost.

 

You know, deep down, that if you send in your army, it is not Heda who sends them in but Lexa, and it will not be for the sake of your people but for Clarke.

 

And no matter how much you love her and you do _love_ her…you cannot do that to your people. you cannot be selfish enough to send them in there for the sake of _your_ heart, _your_ love. You won’t.

 

And you know those from the Ark will probably die and you sincerely wish there was some other way but Heda looks after her people. The hundred are Clarke’s people. Clarke’s responsibility. And if they were your people too it would be different.

 

But they’re not.

 

And your people come first.

 

You look at him and you know that he knows that he has you. He lifts up his hands with a smirk, ready to be taken down to the main gate. You hate him perhaps more than you’ve ever hated anyone as you slide your knife into its sheathe and order that he be bound and brought down, but still. You don’t kill him.

 

The deal is done.

 

***

 

You cut the ropes binding your prisoner and you feel a sharp searing pain as the knife slices through, as if it’s your heart you’re cutting instead.

 

You’re covered in blood but where you’re bleeding is a place no one can see.

 

You take Lincoln by force because you have to; those were the terms of the deal and you don’t miss the bitter irony – honour for your enemies and betrayal for you fri –

 

You can’t quite form the word; Clarke is so much more than just your friend.

_I do **care** Clarke. _You hadn’t been lying then.

 

“May we meet again.” You whisper and your voice wavers only the slightest bit.

 

There are tears in your eyes but they don’t fall.

 

And when you turn away, there is only the slightest gasp of air to show it hurt at all.

 

You walk quickly, your back rigid, head held high because you know that if you slow down, if you relax, if you falter you will turn back. you will _run_ back and pull Clarke into a crushing embrace and that, that would truly be weakness. Selfish. Because this is for your people, not for you.

 

You’re thinking with your head. Not your heart.

 

You bear the pain, so that your people don’t have to

 

Victory comes on the back of Sacrifice, you know.

 

Your people have sacrificed over 700 times. It’s your turn now, you know.

 

Still. It hurts.

 

So.

 

Much.

 

And you think that this time, in sacrificing Clarke you may have sacrificed yourself as well.

 

You make it into the deeper woods before your eyes start burning.

 

Just till the point where trees surround you and you can no longer see Mount Weather before you start shaking.

 

You don’t need to see her to picture the look on Clarke’s face. It is forever burned in your memory.

 

You won’t break. You won’t. you’re strong. Your steel. You’re Heda, Commander of the Twelve Coalitions.

 

You bottom lip is trembling. You bite down on it.

 

Indra notices you struggling, of course she notices. Her eyes widen in alarm, and then fill with understanding and in an instant she’s increased her pace and barking orders that have your retreating soldiers slipping into some semblance of formation and hurrying forward at a jog.

 

You stop where you are, your hands clutching at your chest. Pain like this you haven't felt in a while; like you’ve voluntarily ripped out your own heart.

 

You can barely breathe.

 

your hand curls into fists and you squeeze until your fingers leave angry red indents in your palm.

 

When biting your lip doesn’t work, you lift your whole hand to your mouth and bite down, trying to quell sobs.

 

You can’t do anything about the shaking though.

 

You hold on.

 

Hold on till the last of your soldiers is far enough ahead that he can’t hear you.

 

Till Indra returns and stands, close enough to protect you in case of any surprise attack but far enough away that when she turns her back to you, it still counts as giving you privacy.

 

Then your face crumples and you let go as the sobs come.  As waves of sorrow and pain crash over you, drag you to the ground as you struggle to come to terms with what you have done.

 

How you have given up the second woman you have ever loved.

 

The only woman you will ever love.

 

And you don’t remember the last time you broke like this, the last time anyone got close enough to make you feel this much.

 

“Clarke” you groan her name and the sound is near silent in your agony.

 

And this, this is the side of you you can’t afford to show to anyone; the side that bleeds and shatters and quakes and breaks and cries over a girl with sunlight in her hair and oceans for eyes – the side that proves that you are only human and no matter how strong, sometimes the weight of the whole world is still too much -

 

You empty yourself of tears until you feel hollow with grief. And then more until you feel numb with it. you let yourself lean against the trunk of a nearby try and close your eyes as the last of your tears slide down your face.

 

And you just lie there for a while, trying to find the strength or willpower to get up and keep on going.

 

You can’t find it. so you stay.

 

You don’t realize Indra’s moving until she’s right beside you. When you do register her presence your eyes drift open but you don’t move. Your gaze on her is dead you know. It’s how you feel on the inside. You’re waiting for something, for the contempt, for smugness, for an “I told you so”, _something_ , a figurative boot to your side to force you on your feet.

 

Indra offers none of these things. Instead she reaches down to you with her right arm, her gaze as steadfast and loyal as ever, understanding and compassion in the softness of her eyes.

 

“Heda” she says, and new tears gather at the care and respect in her voice.

 

She is your people. They are your people. you did this so that the dozens that might have fallen tonight, would not - Your people for the price of hers. Your people for the price of Clarke.

 

You take Indra’s arm and let her pull you to your feet. You wipe the tears away from your face as best you can and try to steady shaky breaths.

 

You can’t do anything about the ache in your heart.

 

It strikes you then, as you turn to leave, your general walking in step beside you.

 

That she was wrong.

 

Clarke was wrong. And you were wrong.

 

Because certainly…most times…. people like you do not get people like Clarke and the ground does take away those you love.

 

And you’re not perfect at everything because if there’s one thing that’s abundantly clear, if there’s one thing you’re absolutely horrendous at…

 

It’s walking away from Clarke

 

you do it anyway.

 

 

***

 

But at the very edge of the forest, at the point where the trees begin to give way to mountain slopes you cannot help but turn back, to look in the direction where Clarke would be, drawn by an irresistible pull.

 

Because you cannot stop the flicker of _something_ in your chest that promises that this is not the end, that tiny flame of hope that won’t go out despite the debris it is surrounded by - all the broken pieces of your heart.

 

You pause and breathe. And let the cool evening air kiss your still damp cheeks, let the trees whisper words of comfort, let certainty sink into your bones because it occurs to you that

 

Maybe… sometimes…

 

You do get what you wish for.

 

But maybe…

 

Most times, you have to fight to keep them.

 

Not yet. Or even a week from now.

 

But someday.

 

You _will_ meet again.

 

You’ll make sure of that.

 

And it may take decades for Clarke to forgive you but you will never stop trying.

 

And maybe someday, you will owe nothing more to your people.

 

And she will owe nothing more to hers.

 

And you can try this again.

 

And get it right this time.

 

And hold on to Clarke. No matter what.

 

The flame of hope flares higher, swells to fill your chest and you suck in a breath, surprised at its resilience. You turn and join Indra once again as you begin to make your way down the mountain.

 

It echoes through you with every step, expands with your every breath, keeps time with the twinkling of the stars in the night sky and the rustle of the leaves and the breeze through the trees; The promise of someday.

 

Someday soon.

 

 

 

 

The End.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those who may have been waiting for this last chapter, i'm sorry it took so long. i must have rewritten it at least five times before i could make it something i was happy with. Then 3x07 came and took me for a wonderful loop (note sarcasm.) But if you've read this all the way to the end, then i can tell you that the reason i wrote all this was so that we could get a chance to see what i imagine to be some of Lexa's past, her present with Clarke and her future. The promise of Someday is for everyone who got sucker punched by 3x07. This wasn't meant to be a fix-it fic but at the end of it, you do get to determine Clarke and Lexa's someday and maybe 3x07 never happens or only the first part of 3x07 happens; maybe they meet a week from this moment or a year but in this promise of 'someday' you get to choose what that someday looks like. and if you want them to be happy, they're happy. And if Titus is conveniently out of the palace and no one gets hurt, or he tries and Lexa breaks his nose and throws him in a dungeon; that's all you. And how Lexa chooses to hang onto Clarke and what they look like years, decades from this moment is up to you too.  
> So...this wasn't meant to be a fix-it fic, but it's still my gift to you.  
> Hope it helps.

**Author's Note:**

> please feel free to hit me up with any prompts that come to mind. you can leave a comment, or get me on tumblr ( i'm brand new) as wordsareart777.tumblr.com.  
> Thanks and hope you enjoyed it :)


End file.
